


SLEEPINGJOHN

by Queenoftheuniverse



Series: ALTER 'VERSE [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Child Abuse, Death, Fingering, Killings, Leopard print posing pouch, M/M, Multiple Personality Disorder, Self Harm, Swearing, Velvet - Freeform, War atrocities, did, male on male kissing, self pleasure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-15
Updated: 2013-03-23
Packaged: 2017-12-05 09:12:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 40
Words: 42,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/721366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenoftheuniverse/pseuds/Queenoftheuniverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John was in Afghanistan something happened to him one night, something so horrible that years later, during a bar fight, his mind shatters.</p><p>SleepingJohn protects TheBody at night. SleepingJohn has a knife under his pillow.</p><p>SleepingJohn meets Sherlock and the healing begins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. WE MEET SLEEPINGJOHN

SLEEPINGJOHN

CHAPTER ONE: WE MEET SLEEPINGJOHN

The first time Sherlock met the personality called "SleepingJohn", the experience was mildly disconcerting. 

Sherlock had just come home from touching base with his Homeless Network. The flat was dark, but with the curtains open the streetlights made the place light enough to see a figure standing in the lounge room.

Sherlock paused, noticed it was basically the shape of Dr Watson, and lent against the doorframe, arms crossed, to watch. Because it may well have been Dr Watson shaped but for some reason it just didn't seem like Dr Watson.

The John was standing, hunch shouldered. His shoulder blades were quite prominent in his pyjama shirt. He was rocking on his legs, arms hugging himself. His eyes were almost preternaturally bright, lots of whites showing as they were open as wide as eyes could go. His mouth was moving, mumbling.

Sherlock surmised that John was sleep walking, and stepped into the room. 

John snapped his head around so fast that Sherlock froze, and made his face blank. John had a terrifying look on his face.

"Sneaking up on me?" John hissed in a voice much deeper than his usual voice.

"No John-"

"NOT JOHN!" NotJohn growled, and turned away.

"Then who-"

"SleepingJohn. I look after the body when John is sleeping."

"How?" Sherlock asked.

SleepingJohn turned his eyes back to Sherlock and Sherlock suppressed a shiver. SleepingJohn was disconcerting to say the least.

"Make sure nothing can touch The Body. Guard it. Keep it safe."

"From what?"

"From all the bumps in the night." SleepingJohn said. "The secret feet, the hissing sand, the big hulks, the shiny knives....stop them from seeing The Body."

Sherlock took all this in. A proper genius like him filtered through the relevant information in mere seconds.

He concluded that this must be a split from Johns normal personality. Trauma usually caused this and from the comments SleepingJohn had just made, the trauma was from Johns time in Afghanistan. 

Hissing sand and shiny knives. 

Sherlock wondered, not for the first time, exactly what Captain Watson of the fifth Northumberland Fusiliers had gone through in that desert war.

"Are there any more people guarding The Body?" Sherlock asked then. Usually there were more personalities. Hence the archaic but more recognisable term "Multiple Personality Disorder."

"Just me. Just me. I am all The Body needs at night."

"The Body needs sleep, needs to rest." Sherlock said. "If you are up guarding him, when does he sleep?"

"He is asleep. He does not know. He is well rested in the morning."

"But you use The Body at night. The muscles, part of his brain, and these are not resting."

"Not normally up, not normally walking around..." SleepingJohn explained. "Usually in bed, holding the knife, ready for action."

"Why are you up tonight?" Sherlock asked.

"Something happened. Something happened to The Body today."

Sherlock went cold.

"What? Please, what happened?"

SleepingJohn squinted his overly bright eyes at Sherlock.

"You care for The Body."

"I care for John very much."

"There is no danger from you"

"Never."

SleepingJohn went back to rocking, hugging his ribs. Almost as if he had dismissed Sherlock now he was deemed not a threat. 

"Please. SleepingJohn...what happened? What happened to The Body today?" Sherlock whispered.

"Bad. Bad bad bad..."

"I can help." Sherlock whispered. "I don't know what you and John need but I can help."

SleepingJohn just rocked and mumbled.

Sherlock went over Johns schedule. Thursday. He had to do 8 hours at the surgery and then it was drinks at the pub with Lestrade like every Thursday night.

"SleepingJohn, did this happen at the clinic, or the pub?" Sherlock asked.

"Pub. Pub pub pub..." SleepingJohn told him, still not looking at him, continuing to rock. Sherlock got his phone out and txt Lestrade, despite it being 1 am.

"WHAT HAPPENED AT THE PUB WITH JOHN TONIGHT?" -SH

"SleepingJohn, what do you need to do to keep The Body safe?" Sherlock asked then, remembering from a paper he read on Dissociative Identity Disorder, the more recent term for what John was experiencing, that each personality had a "role" to perform. 

"Need to watch. Keep watch. Always. When The Body is sleeping he is vulnerable. Not safe. I keep the sleeping body safe."

So something had happened in Afghanistan while John had been asleep. Something so bad it caused Johns mind to split.

Sherlocks phone blipped.

"BIT OF BOTHER WITH A BIG DRUNK BLOKE. JOHN WAS NOT HURT. NEITHER WAS I, IF YOU WERE WONDERING." -GL

"DEFINE "BIT OF BOTHER".-SH

"IS JOHN OKAY?"- GL

"NO, JOHN IS NOT OKAY. TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED."- SH

"BIG GUY IN UNIFORM, HAD A FEW TOO MANY UNDER HIS BELT. STARTED PUSHING AROUND A SMALLER BLOKE, GOT LOUD. BIG BLOKE PULLED A KNIFE, JOHN DISARMED HIM AND SAT ON HIM TILL I COULD CUFF THE GUY. JOHN STAYED ON HIM UNTIL MY GUYS GOT THERE."-GL

"OH, AND I CHECKED JOHN OVER. NOT A SCRATCH ON HIM."-GL

Sherlock paused. Big military bloke, smaller bloke, knife, drunkenness. The only thing Sherlock could do would be to ask John about his night in the morning.

"SleepingJohn, can you take John back to bed now I am here?" Sherlock asked. "I can watch The Body. I am not going to sleep tonight."

"John says you are trustworthy." SleepingJohn said. "He says you don't sleep much." he paused. "He says it could be okay for me to take John back into the room."

"Are you talking to John now?" Sherlock asked. This was truly fascinating. 

"I am checking with UnderJohn. It is John but his subconscious. He won't remember any of this in the morning."

"SleepingJohn, I can promise you I will protect you both from anything." Sherlock said, his voice deep and serious. He meant it. Whatever it was that split John must have been ghastly and Sherlock would save John from that memory. "Take TheBody to bed."

SleepingJohn searched Sherlocks face, eyes darting everywhere. Whatever he saw ,it must have been okay because SleepingJohn did a military turn and marched off. He stopped at the door to Johns room and turned back.

"John says to tell you we have a knife under our pillow. He says Don't come in on us suddenly."

"Of course SleepingJohn. Thank you for telling me. Good night."

SleepingJohn went into Johns bedroom and clicked the door shut.

Sherlock flopped onto the couch and spent the remainder of the night in his thinking position, hands tented under his chin, staring at nothing, brain busy as a five lane highway.

#


	2. I THINK SOMETHING BAD HAS HAPPENED

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John misses work.

SLEEPINGJOHN

CHAPTER TWO: SOMETHING BAD HAS HAPPENED

John wandered out to the kitchen in the morning, his hair all fluffy from sleep. Seeing Sherlock on the couch he said.

"Tea?"

"That would be lovely John." Sherlock said, sweeping up into a sitting position. "Sleep well?"

"Yeah, yes, I did." John said, filling the jug.

"Lestrade said you had some issue at the pub last night." Sherlock said.

"Yeah, some guy, causing trouble." John said, putting bags into his cup. 

"Greg tells me you disarmed him."

"He was drunk. It was quite easy." John said then, pouring the hot water in.

"Still....well done..." Sherlock said. "Well done indeed."

"Sherlock, don't start confusing me. It is too early." John said as he milked and sugared the tea. 

"Confusing you?"

"Yes, with compliments. I am sure the biting comment suits you better."

John handed Sherlock his tea and sat in his usual chair. 

"John, biting comments, really." Sherlock snorted. John didn't answer, just smiled over his cup.

After John had gone to work Sherlock took a cab to The Yard. He burst into Lestrades office and sat, quite at home.

"Please sit." Greg said sarcastically under his breath.

"Did you notice anything strange about John last night?" Sherlock asked, without preamble.

"You mean apart from the fact that a five foot six fluffy jumper wearing doctor disarmed a six foot three drunk knife wielding ex army captain?" Lestrade said, not dropping the sarcasm.

"Yes. How did John appear afterwards?"

"Cool as a cucumber." Lestrade said. "The mans feathers cannot be ruffled."

Sherlock raised one eyebrow and then tented his hands again, thinking.

"He left pretty soon after I took his statement." Lestrade went on. "We never did finish our drinks."

"You have been most helpful." Sherlock stood suddenly.

"Wait, is there something going on? With John?" Greg asked then.

"Not sure. I'll let you know." Sherlock said, and swept from the room.

"Meh." Lestrade commented.

#

After lunch, while Sherlock was at St Barts lab, he got a phone all from Sarah at the clinic asking where John was.

"He left for the clinic at 8 this morning." Sherlock informed her.

"He never got here." Sarah said. "And he is not answering his phone."

Sherlock hung up straight away, thinking madly. Where would John have gone? Was he in danger? Did SleepingJohn make him do something, go somewhere, and now he was lost? 

Sherlock txt Mycroft.

LOST JOHN. CAN YOU TXT ME HIS TELEPHONE GPS CO-ORDINATES?-SH

Mycroft naturally txt him back almost straight away. He had tabs on nearly every 'phone in London.

CARELESS. HIS PHONE IS ON THE CORNER OF REGENTS PARK AND SOVEREIGN STREET. -MH

Sherlock left the lab and caught a cab to Johns co-ordinates. When he got there he found John, sitting slumped on a park bench, a cup of take away coffee in his hand. 

Sherlock approached him cautiously.

"John?" he asked, not sure which John he would be talking to. John seemed not to hear him. "John, you missed work..."

John turned his head slowly to stare at Sherlock. His eyes were red and there was a slight tremor in his face.

"Ah." Sherlock said. "John, come on home. You're drunk."

"Not drunk." John said, then burped hideously. He giggled. "Okay, I am slightly drunk. Only a little bit. A teensy tad..."

Sherlock grabbed the coffee cup and sniffed. Pure vodka.

"Ergh." Sherlock wrinkled his nose. "Get up John, I am taking you home." he tossed the drink into the nearest bin.

"Just a minute...damn legs, always the first to go.." John tried to get his legs working but, like a baby giraffes, they just were not cooperating.

Sherlock lifted John to his feet, put one arm over his shoulders, and started walking John to the road to get a cab.

"Sherlock..." John tried to focus up to Sherlocks face over the hump of his rucked jumper and stretched arm. "Sherlock..."

"Just a minute John, we are nearly there."

"Sherlock..I'm scared." John said then, and Sherlock paused, looking down at his friend.

"John...?"

Johns voice dropped to a harsh whisper.

"I think something really bad happened...." 

#


	3. FLIRT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SleepingJohn is not the only personality living in Johns shattered soul.

SLEEPINGJOHN

CHAPTER THREE: FLIRT

Sherlock was desperately fascinated by DID and to have a sufferer so close was excellent of course, but so.... frustrating. Frustrating because as much as he wanted to study, experiment, find out all sorts of..stuff, this was John Watson, his only friend, closer to him than his own brother. The man who shot someone to save the life of the Freak he had known a matter of hours.

Sherlock knew without a doubt that John was badass. Tough. Loyal. Strong moral compass. From the little he knew of Johns early life he had battled some issues and burst through the other side with his soul intact. He was like a Picasso painting. So much more complex in his simplicity than any other man Sherlock had ever met.

So what had caused this split? This dividing of Johns core? And would it help to dig that out? Is that what would fix this? Pull his John back together again? Perhaps he could get Mycroft to pull Johns file...ah, that way lay madness. A file would say A happened, then B, then C...not how Captain Watson himself felt, or reacted. 

While mulling this over the subject of his musings was attempting, rather dismally, to pull off his own jacket and hang it up. Sherlock remembered in time that John was a person, not a study, and helped him.

"Hey, thanks Sherlock..." John smiled up at him, eyes bright with alcohol. 

"John really, you need the help." Sherlock snorted, and hung Johns coat up, followed by his own Belstaff and scarf. He pulled off his gloves while John shuffled over to the couch and sat down. Sherlock busied himself making tea. 

Such a process, but therapeutic. This making and drinking of tea.

"John, do you think you could tell me what happened this afternoon?" Sherlock passed John his tea and sat down in the chair John usually took. 

"Thanks, tea, lovely..." John slurred, taking the cup and saucer in a slightly trembling hand. He took a sip and smiled. "Lovely."

"Thank you."

"What happened?" John asked then. "As in, why am I slightly inebriated at two in the afternoon?"

"Please, yes, and you missed work."

"Did I?" John said then. "I was sure I was on my way.."

"Did you experience any blank periods today, where you cannot recall where you were?" Sherlock asked, quite gently. 

"I got drunk Sherlock, in the DAY. Of course I have black spots!" John snapped.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and sipped his tea. Blank spots indicated SleepingJohn may have....but wait. SleepingJohn protected TheBody at night, when John was asleep. Assuming John was not asleep in the pub, this indicated to Sherlock there may be another personality in John. SleepingJohn said there was only him, but maybe SleepingJohn was not aware of this other personality? Fascinating.

"That was a great cuppa Sherlock..." John sighed, putting his empty cup and saucer indelicately on the coffee table, causing it to rattle, and then fall softly to the carpet. 

"oooops.."

"I'll get it." Sherlock offered. "You will probably fall on your face."

Sherlock put his own cup on the table then swooped to retrieve Johns cup. As he sat back up on his heels to put the cup on the table John was staring at him. His eyes were intense. There was an edge to them Sherlock was unsure he liked. Then they softened.

"Sit next to me..." John said, his voice really quiet. He reached out and began to caress Sherlocks shoulders.

"Erm...John?"

John looked coyly at Sherlock.

"No....silly. Do I look like John?"

"Yes."

"Well I am not." said this NotJohn, frowning crossly. The frown left and a softer look replaced it. NotJohn shifted forward and smiled gently at Sherlock. Okay, this one was not as scary as SleepingJohn and whoever got John drunk today but Sherlock still felt uncomfortable. It looked very much like John was coming on to him.

"Uh...John..."

"Flirt. My name is Flirt."

"Right. Flirt." Sherlock coughed. "Did you get TheBody drunk today?"

"No."

"Was that SleepingJohn?"

"God no silly. SleepingJohn only comes on duty when TheBody is sleeping."

"Then who got John drunk?"

"Kiss me."

"uh...Flirt...I am not..."

"Don't you think I'm cute?"

Sherlock assessed this new personality. Coy look, lips parted, eyes full of come ons and promises...

"Yes. I do." Sherlock said. "Your eyes are beautiful. But Flirt, I am Johns friend. I couldn't hurt him by kissing you. Because even if I was kissing you, it is TheBody it would affect and TheBody is not...gay."

"But I am." Flirt said.

"Oh, I thought you were female..." Sherlock said then. "Huh..."

"Pft, don't be silly. TheBody is so repressed he imagines you under him, moaning, but he pretends he 'fell' on you." Flirt did air quotes around the word fell. "Or he is 'protecting' you. Never heard it called that before..." Flirt giggled. 

Sherlock processed this information in a few seconds. Interesting.

"So you are TheBodys sexual representation?"

"Oh do shut up Detective. Kiss me." Flirt lent forward but Sherlock put his hands gently on this new personalities' upper arms to stop him.

"I can't Flirt. Not without TheBodys permission."

"Oh but you want to, I can see from here.." Flirt murmured, lashes falling on his cheeks as his heavy lidded eyes checked Sherlocks body all over. Sherlock blushed a little. He coughed to cover up his whirling confusion.

"Flirt, can YOU tell me what happened in Afghanistan?" he asked, hoping this softer side of John would be able to access what happened and-

As it turned out, Sherlock assumed very wrongly.

Flirt changed, right before Sherlocks eyes. Became an ugly parody of John, with a twisted furious face and eyes of cold flint. The mouth pulled back and showed teeth like a cornered fox. He threw Sherlock away from him, sending Sherlock skidding across the rug, and with a sweep of his arm sent everything on the coffee table crashing to the ground.

Then he stood, chest puffed out, fists clenched so hard Sherlock could see every sinew strained white. This new personality shook and trembled.

Then let out a series of screams so terrifying Sherlocks heart nearly jumped up and strangled him with fear.

#


	4. THE ANGRY ONE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock finally gets to let John know what's been going on.

SLEEPINGJOHN 

CHAPTER FOUR: THE ANGRY ONE

Sherlock covered his ears as Johns screams pierced right through him.

"John, stop! You're safe!" he roared over the top of Johns terror.

John swooped his arms around then, fists clenched, eyes darting around the room. He finally bellowed, strode across the carpet and smashed his fist, just once, into the wall above the fireplace, right next to the yellow smily face. The plaster crumbled and flew under the massive power behind this punch and Sherlock put up one arm to protect his eyes from dust.

John pulled his fist free, shook it and then twirled, sliding down the marble next to the fireplace to land curled over his legs, knees up, on the hearth. His shoulders shook and he was holding his crumpled hand out from his body. 

Sherlock saw blood and split skin. This he could deal with.

He crawled gently over to John, tugging out a cloth handkerchief from his jeans pocket. he lightly took Johns wrist in his hand. John sobbed.

"I think I broke a nail...."

Sherlock pressed his handkerchief into Johns injuries. John hissed in a breath and looked up, catching Sherlocks eyes in his own. Even red rimmed with tears Sherlock could tell John was back.

"Hello John."

"Sherlock, what in the fuck is happening!?"

"You smashed a hole in the wall."

"Sherlock..."

"John, I think you are suffering from Dissociative Identity Disorder." Sherlock went on without preamble.

"What...huh?"

"So far I have met two distinct Other Johns, and heard from one other." Sherlock said.

"Uh, Sherlock, are you high?" John asked and hissed as Sherlock peeled the handkerchief from his torn knuckles.

"Do you remember doing this John?" Sherlock asked, turning Johns hand to survey the damage and avoiding the confusion in Johns eyes. "Do you remember punching the wall?"

"Yes...no...I remember the pain..." John said then. "But I have had a bit to drink..."

"Do you remember going to the bar?"

"That I do remember!" John said.

"Really?"

John paused.

"I was on my way to work, and suddenly needed to have a drink..."

"And then, John...?" Sherlock said, looking up from the damaged hand to the damaged eyes. "You don't remember do you. Until I found you at the park. There's nothing is there?"

John shook his head, eyes wide.

"Nothing...." 

"Classic sign John. And the fact that I have now had a conversation with two of your alters. Indirectly three, there's one who talks through another."

"You have talked to these...Other parts of me?"

"Yes."

"Who...?"

"I met SleepingJohn Thursday night." Sherlock said. "After you disarmed the knife wielder at the pub. SleepingJohn told me he usually guards TheBody, which is you, at night. You have a knife under your pillow?"

"I do. How do you...oh, you deduced it." John nodded. Sherlock by now had crossed the room to the first aid kit.

"No, SleepingJohn told me. Through UnderJohn, which is the unconscious part of you who is aware of your Alters." Sherlock said as he walked back and knelt at Johns side. He gently smeared some cream on the broken knuckle skin.

"The Alter Who smashed the wall has not told me who he is and I suspect he is also the one who took you to the pub. He seems rough, angry."

"God, I didn't hurt you did I?" John asked, and hissed a bit as Sherlock put gauze over his knuckles.

"John, the alter who punched the wall is not you. Even if he HAD hurt me, which he didn't, I would not have blamed you. It would have been him."

"This is nuts."

"No, it is fascinating." Sherlock said, dragging out some medical tape from the dispenser and cutting with his teeth.

"I bet you are loving this." John snorted. "Seeing this sort of mental condition up close."

"No, not loving it." Sherlock said. "John, if it were anyone else, Lestrade, Mycroft, some stranger, it would be just research. But this is you. I don't want to leave this to 'run its course' so to speak with you. I want to fix this."

"Fix it?" John asked. 

"Yes. Fix it. Did you not hear me?"

"And if it can't be fixed?"

"Impossible."

John snuffed out a laugh. 

"Sherlock, YOU are impossible."

"I met another Alter, just before the angry one came out." Sherlock said, meeting Johns eyes again. "He came onto me."

"You're making that up!"

"I assure you I am not." Sherlock said, one eyebrow riding up. "His name is Flirt. And he lived up to his name."

"Did you.." John coughed and circled his hand. "...Erm...take him up on his offer?"

"No." Sherlock said.

"Okay, good, good..." John nodded. "....good..." he added, softer, looking away. "So how do you propose we fix this...situation."

"You could tell me about Afghanistan." Sherlock said in a low, soft, non threatening tone.

John ran his now treated hand down his face, and shook his head.

"No, Sherlock, I really couldn't." he said. 

"Could one of your Alters tell me?" Sherlock asked then. 

John would not look at him. 

He paused. 

Then he nodded.

"But how?" John asked, turning back to Sherlock. "Ask them nicely?"

"No, John." Sherlock said. "I plan to hypnotise you."

#

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone knows what that tiled bit in front of the fireplace is called I would be ever so grateful. Not the grate, the actual thing the grate is on that sort of sticks into the room...


	5. MEET THE ALTERS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock finally puts John under and sorts out some Alters.

SLEEPINGJOHN

CHAPTER FIVE: MEET THE ALTERS.

It didn't work the first three times they tried. 

John was too self conscious and could not relax. 

Sherlock assured him it was perfectly safe, he had read all about the technique in the days between each try.

"And how many Dissasociatives have you hypnotised Sherlock?" John demanded.

"None. You are the first."

"So forgive me if I find it hard relax and trust you!" John exclaimed. 

John went to work and to the pub and to the Yard as usual, and Sherlock solved a few cases, played his violin, and annoyed Anderson with a dinosaur in lingerie drawing on the Yards white board. Alright, John helped with the bra, but that was all.

Finally on Friday night John surprised Sherlock and went under. 

A combination of tiredness, a comfy corduroy Lazy Boy chair got especially for the session, in full reclining position, and Sherlocks deep voice did the trick. Sherlock even felt it prudent this time to switch the video recorder on. John might like to see his Alters.

Sherlock settled more fully into the chair opposite his sleeping friend and began.

"I would like to speak to SleepingJohn, if I may." Sherlock said, keeping his tone light.

Johns head moved, and eyes opened. He sat up quickly. Sherlock knew straight away It was not SleepingJohn.

"You sure you don't want to talk to me bitch?" Johns voice was rough, and his fists clenched. The previously injured knuckles had barely healed but the skin held.

"Who is this?" Sherlock asked, a little nervous but staying right where he was. This was essentially John. His friend.

"I am TheFuryandtheFear" Johns Alter said, in a rough tone. His accent was not Johns either. "I punch. I get drunk. I fight. Nobody hurts TheBody."

"You do." Sherlock corrected.

"I'm allowed innet?" Fury said, and grinned at Sherlock. It was not a bad grin. More a cheeky lads grin.

"When did you arrive in Johns life?" Sherlock asked then. "I assume Afghanistan."

"You asyoooom do ya?" Fury snorted. "What tha fuck do you know fancy ponce?" 

"Nothing. That's why I am asking."

Furys face was a mask of anger, barely holding together. He was angry, and he was frightened, and the combination was dangerous.

"I were the first." he said. "I been here since Da."

Sherlock suppressed a cold shiver. 

This was bad. 

This was really bad. 

Perhaps John should see a professional, Sherlock was afraid he was inadequate. He had expected war trauma not childhood trauma.

Furys eyes closed then and he fell gently back onto the recliner. Sherlock could not say he was upset. Fury was a scary guy. 

Sherlock put John back under, and prepared to bring him out. That seemed enough for a first session.

But before he could, Johns eyes opened again, and he stretched luxuriously, like a cat.

"Hello again." Flirt said, smiling sweetly. 

"Hello Flirt." Sherlock acknowledged. 

"Wanna take me to dinner, the snog me senseless against a dirty alley wall?" Flirt nestled into the cushion behind his head, and twirled some hair in his fingers. 

Sherlock smiled.

"Flirt, you are adorable." he said. "I want to kiss you, of course. But as I said, not until TheBody let's me. Or doesn't."

Flirt pouted.

"Tease." he said. "Do you want to talk dirty to me then?" he added hopefully.

"I would like to talk to you. Ask you questions." Sherlock said.

"Dirty questions?" Flirt perked.

"No. Just ordinary questions."

Flirt pouted again and sighed.

"Go ahead then."

"When did you come to live in John?"

"Oh sweetheart I am new. Bran New. Virrrrrrrginal." he fluttered his eyes at Sherlock and Sherlock found himself responding quite positively. He laughed. 

"I was created at the pub with that hunky Lestrade." Flirt went on. "After that brute with the knife which Fury took down. Ergh." Flirt shivered. "Fury protects us when TheBody is awake. SleepingJohn looks after us when we are asleep. I do believe that lovely Greg kissed ME goodbye though."

"Did you come on to Greg Lestrade?"

"With you waiting for me at home? Don't be silly! He thought I was just TheBody" Flirt giggled. "No, after all that nastiness at the bar....TheBody made me as something you might find attractive. Do you....find me attractive?"

Sherlock was unsure how to answer. So he went with honesty.

"I find John very attractive."

Flirt pouted yet again. "I will just have to....soften you up!" he said, and winked. Sherlock smiled again. It was hard to be objective when Flirt was flirting.

"I don't suppose you know what happened in Afghanistan?" Sherlock asked and Flirt flipped her hand.

"Ugh I won't talk about that!" Flirt curled his nose up. 

"Who would?"

"SleepingJohn came to live with John in Afghanistan. But TheFuryandtheFear killed the Major. He was the one who had to shoot him. Woke up from a long long sleep to do it too. Hung around for a while after, then got bored when TheBody went to live in that beige bedsit." Flirt sighed. "Then TheBody had to scream for Fury to take down that horrid man in the bar. Is it any wonder TheBody wanted a nice man to cuddle after that, and I came along?"

Sherlocks brain swam. After so long with no information, this onslaught was dizzying. Flirt cocked his head, listening.

"Oh,UnderJohn says SleepingJohn wants to speak to you. Too-rah good looking." Flirt used his fingers to give Sherlock a cute wave and was gone. In his place was the wide eyed SleepingJohn. He sat up, arms around himself and rocked.

"UnderJohn says I have to tell you. I have to tell you about Afghanistan." SleepingJohn said. 

He paused.

"He says to tell you he trusts you." 

Another pause.

"He says I have to tell you because TheFuryandtheFear will get too angry."

Sherlock nodded, then made sure the video was still recording.

"Please go ahead SleepingJohn. Tell me about Afghanistan."

SleepingJohn lent forward as if in pain and began.

#


	6. SHERLOCK BRINGS IN THE MIDDLIN' GUNS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Detective Inspector Lestrade gets pulled in to help.

SLEEPINGJOHN

CHAPTER SIX: SHERLOCK PULLS IN THE MIDDLIN' GUNS

John refused point blank to see the video the next day. Or the day after that. Or indeed every day the next week. 

It was quite hellish for Sherlock. He had listened to the whole story SleepingJohn had to tell and he was in two minds over letting John see the video. Certainly not on his own of course. Sherlock was not prone to bad dreams but the nightmare of what happened to Dr Watson in that desert war played on his mind. 

And SleepingJohn was very.....descriptive.

But SHOULD John see the video?

In the end Sherlock went to see Lestrade. After all, he was there when all the Alters came back and even got to see a new one created. He may not have been aware of it but he was also Johns mate and Sherlock hated to admit it but he was a bit out of his depth.

"Ah Mister Holmes, to what do I owe this pleasure?" Lestrade said as Sherlock entered the room. For once though, he did not sit down like he owned the place.

"Can we talk, in private?" Sherlock asked, hands in his coat pockets. "It's about John."

"I fucking knew it! I knew there was something wrong! Close the door, sit down." Lestrade waved his hand at the door. Sherlock did as he was asked. The door clicked shut with a satisfactory latch and he floomphed onto the chair in front of Lestrades desk.

"John..." Sherlock stopped. He actually couldn't talk. Why couldn't he talk? There was an obstruction in his throat...like a lump...

"Jesus, he's got cancer!" Lestrade hissed and gripped the wood of his desk in panic.

"No..." Sherlock shook his head, and swallowed a few times. His eyes stung. Maybe he was allergic to Anderson?

"Fuck, what's worse than cancer?" Lestade squeaked then.

"What the hell are you going on about?" Sherlock asked in a weirdly husky voice. Definitely an allergy. Anderson's cologne was mighty strong this morning.

"Sherlock, you're crying, you big pillock. What's wrong with John?" Lestarde demanded.

Sherlock put his hand to his face and found it was indeed wet with tears.

"So, not Anderson then..."

"If you do not tell me what is wrong in the next three seconds so help me God Sherlock I will take a switch to you!" 

"Calm down Detective Inspector." Sherlock swallowed. "No need for hysterics. John...is okay. He is just...not himself. Or rather, his IS himself but more of him....self...." Sherlock trailed off. "Keep what I am about to say confidential Lestrade..."

Lestrade just looked daggers at him, fingers curling into fists.

"The other week at the pub. With the knife and the disarming...something happened to John."

"He didn't have a scratch on him." Lestrade assured Sherlock.

"When John was a child something happened to him. Something extremely bad. With his Da, as far as I can surmise. It was so bad he split into two district personalities. At least, that's what I believe happened."

"The fuck...?"

"After he left that situation the other personality, called TheFuryandtheFear by the way, lay dormant."

"Sherlock-"

"Then in Afghanistan he witnessed an atrocity which woke up the dormant Alter and made another Alter come out. SleepingJohn. He protects TheBody, which is John, while John is asleep. Or hypnotised, as I just found out."

"What in the hell-"

"They lay dormant after John came back. While he was in the bedsit. Until that night at the pub. You see, John did not disarm that knife wielding man. TheFuryandtheFear did." 

"Are you seriously telling me John has three separate personalities inside him, like a Skitzy?"

"Five. And schizophrenia is not the same thing." Sherlock said. "John had Dissociative Identity Disorder. Used to be Multiple Personality Disorder."

"You're shitting me."

"I most assuredly am not. Along with SleepingJohn and TheFuryandtheFear, there is UnderJohn, which is Johns subconscious which is aware of the Alters, and Flirt, which is Johns latent homosexual side."

Lestrades brain finally caught up.

"Ohhhh...that's why he kissed me..."

"What?" Sherlock snapped.

"Alter he gave his statement . He said 'Toodlepip' and kissed my cheek..."

Sherlock slit his eyes at Lestrade.

"You remember I asked you if John had done anything unusual that night and you said no? THAT, Lestrade, kissing you and saying toodlepip...THAT constitutes something unusual!"

"Calm down Princess, don't get your knickers in a twist. It didn't register at the time." Lestrade snapped. "Anyone would think you were jealous..."

"Yes, well. You saw an Alter get born. I AM jealous."

"Eh?"

"Flirt. He's new. He came about exactly on that night, as something nice and soft to offshoot the tough protector Alters." Sherlock said. He thought it prudent not to mention that Flirt was also made so Sherlock would jump Johns bones.

Sherlock then went on to explain the video he had made and the stubbornness of one Dr Watson in not viewing it.

"What the SleepingJohn personality told you. In Afghanistan. How bad?" Lestrade asked. Sherlocks "Anderson Allergy" seemed to flare again for a split second before Sherlock beat it down again.

"To tell you the truth Detective Inspector....I have no idea how John is even still with us."

"That bad huh?"

"That bad." Sherlock acknowledged.

"And you want him to see it why?"

Sherlock paused.

"I have a feeling seeing that video may go a long way to pulling all the separate parts of John together again."

"Maybe Sherlock. Maybe you have a point. But, mister genius detective, you have forgotten something." Lestrade said, eyes sad.

"I highly doubt that."

"TheFuryandtheFear was around in his childhood. With his Da. Nothing to do with Afghanistan. How are you going to pull THAT John together?"

Sherlock paused.

"Greg...I need your help..."

#


	7. FOR SCIENCE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John refuses to be glued back together.

SLEEPINGJOHN

CHAPTER SEVEN: FOR SCIENCE

John and Greg were just on their second beer when Sherlock joined them at their usual Thursday night booth.

"Well well well Sherlock, to what do we owe this pleasure?" Dr Watson greeted him. John was always asking him to come to the pub for the Thursday drinks but Sherlock always scoffed. Him turning up now got John suspicious of course but he smiled because it was mostly always damn good to see Sherlock.

"I have something for you John, a timeline." Sherlock said. He slid over a small printed piece of paper and sat next to John.

"Eh?" John said, glancing at the paper.

"Beer mate?" Lestrade asked Sherlock, who shook his head. 

"Rum. With ice."

Lestrade wandered over to the bar and Sherlock took the time to confess to John he had told Lestrade about his DID. 

John lowered his beer and stared at Sherlock.

"You did WHAT?" he growled, his eyes flinty.

"I really needed the help." Sherlock said, his voice really low and looking around in case anyone heard his confession.

"Sherlock, you could have asked me!" John hissed then. "Greg probably thinks I am a looney!"

"On the contrary. He's been most helpful."

Lestrade returned with Sherlocks drink. He slid it in front of him, winked at John and said "Orrite?"

"I'm not crazy!" John said then.

"I know mate." was all Lestrade said. "What do you think of Sherlocks timeline?"

John finally looked down.

1979-1995- TheFuryandtheFear and UnderJohn  
2005-2008- SleepingJohn  
Late. 2013- Flirt

"You have actually met all of these people...?" John said. "And they are on that video you took?"

"Yes. Except UnderJohn. He speaks through SleepingJohn." Sherlock explained.

"Oh God I AM mad..." John sniped, shaking his head.

"Mate, you ain't." Greg said then. "One of my sisters mates in Uni had 8 personalities. He had been in a cult as a child. His Alters got him through that horror and worked together to make him quite a normal person." 

"I didn't know that Lestrade." Sherlock said. "You seemed quite clueless when you called John a quote unquote skitzy."

John moaned in despair.

"Well we all called my sisters friend Skitzy. It was easier than Multiple Personality Disorder."

"Dissasociative-,

"I KNOW Sherlock. But then we knew it as Multiple Personality Disorder." he looked at John. "Don't you want to meet your Alters John? See what they are like?"

"No, I don't, I really don't. They use my body and I have no idea what they are doing."

"Flirt apparently likes to kiss Detective Inspectors." Sherlock said, raising one eyebrow and his rum at Lestrade. Poor John groaned again. 

"I am soooooo sorry!" John apologised.

"Don't worry about it John. I'll take my kisses where I can get them." Lestrade answered, sending a challenging look to Sherlock and sipped his beer. "Unlike SOME people."

"Will you two stop it? This is ME you are being...stupid cocks over!" John said harshly. 

"Listen, Sherlock has a point." Lestrade said then, serious face on. "You should see at least the first bit of the video. Before SleepingJohn talks about what happened in Afghanistan."

"I just don't think I can." John said, shaking his head. "There is a reason I cannot recall some of my service."

Sherlock nodded sagely. He knew that reason. 

"Nevertheless John, all my research says if you can recall the trauma you can begin to heal and meld all your personalities together." Sherlock said.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why meld them?"

"To make you whole."

"I'm already whole." John shrugged.

"But your blank periods, not knowing what you do, where you go, where you end up..." Sherlock said.

"Each one of my Alters looks after certain parts of my life." John said. "Why not let them continue to do so?"

"Because you are shattered John. Not whole. Do you not get it?"

"I get it Sherlock. But I shattered for a reason. Maybe how I am now stops me from becoming...I dunno, a serial killer or Master Criminal." John said. "We all know how some abused kids turn out. I am pretty fine as I am."

Lestrade was nodding, impressed.

"At least let me regress you to your childhood. Get that on tape." Sherlock asked.

"Let me guess, for research?" 

"You ARE fascinating John."

"Even without my Alters?"

Lestrade snorted. "Oh John, you have to ask?"

"What....what?" John looked from Lestrade to Sherlock and back again.

"Yes, for research." Sherlock said. 

John thought for a good while. He was petrified. He had a good life right now, sorted. His health was good, he was happy, blogging, doctoring, running about London and sometimes other places with the enigmatic Sherlock. Beers with Lestrade on a Thursday, sleeping in on a Sunday. Why mess with that?

Yet Sherlock had already hypnotised him once and he recalled none of it. And to save Sherlock being bored...

"Okay, hypnotise me again. It's fine." he said. Then he looked over at Lestrade. "Wanna watch?"

"Pervert." Lestrade smiled, but agreed.

"For science?" John asked Sherlock.

"For science." Sherlock agreed, and clinked Johns glass with his own.

#


	8. FLIRT FLIRTS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flirt decides it is high time Sherlock snogs him.

SLEEPINGJOHN

CHAPTER EIGHT: FLIRT FLIRTS

After making a time on Saturday to regress John to his childhood Lestrade left to go home and Sherlock and John went home by cab. John went straight to bed but Sherlock stayed up for some time researching some more on DID hypnotism. He happily jotted down a script to stick to and then showered, slipped into silk pyjama bottoms and flopped onto bed. 

He was asleep in five minutes.

Suddenly, some hours later, he popped awake. Someone was in his room. In the barest moonlight Sherlock could see it was John in pyjamas and a robe.

"John, you OK?"

"Close." said Flirt, stepping right into the moonlight and smiling his coy little smile at Sherlock. "I'm bringing sexy back." he said, and he winked.

Sherlock moaned and flopped his face into his mattress.

"Flirt, no, you cannot be in here!" he said, voice muffled by the mattress.

"Why not?"

Sherlock looked up to see Flirt undoing Johns robe.

"Flirt, please, go back to bed."

"Can't..." Flirt said, and slid Johns robe off onto the ground. "Oops, my robe fell off."

"Subtle." Sherlock said quietly, rolling over and sitting on the edge of his bed. Flirt was slowly running his hand up along the tight white t-shirt John had worn to bed.

"Sherrrrrrrrlock...." Flirt purred.

"God Flirt, don't." Sherlock said, swallowing slowly.

"You are so buttoned up Sherlock." Flirt said then. "So stiff."

"Flirt, your doublè èntendres are not subtle." Sherlock sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He felt Flirts eyes on his chest and he felt both vulnerable and....quite sexy.

"I am not aiming to be subtle." Flirt said, eyes locking onto Sherlocks, open wide and bright as a rabbits. 

"What is your aim then Flirt?"

Flirt chuckled. It was Johns laugh and it did weird things to Sherlocks brain.

"How long?" Flirt whispered, pointer finger of his travelling hand stroking the hard nub of his own nipple. Sherlock flushed pink.

"How long what?" he asked, watching the finger. Stroking. 

"How long have you loved TheBody?" Flirt whispered to him.

"I don't know really. Since he shot the cabbie." Sherlock said. How fun it was to say this to John, confess, and yet it not be John. 

"UnderJohn says that's when TheBody knew he loved you too."

"UnderJohn talks to you as well as SleepingJohn?"

"He talks to all of us. We have to know things to be able to move in TheBodys world."

"Why didn't John say anything to me?" Sherlock asked Flirt. That damn finger had not stopped stroking and now the nipple was as hard as if it had been caught in an icy wind.

"Because you are damn sexy and he wanted to wait." Flirt said. "Until the time was right. What do you think?...Is it right?...The time?...."

"Flirt..."

Flirt didn't let Sherlock say anything else. He lent down and pressed his lips softly to Sherlocks. Sherlock took in a deep breath of surprise but found himself unable to move. This may be Flirt but it sure felt like John. He had fantasised about Johns lips on his for so long that now they were here he just could not push him away. In fact he took Flirts kiss deeper, and introduced Flirt to his tongue. 

Flirt took this as a signal to fall lightly to his knees, his hands on Sherlocks thighs. This instant giving of himself went straight to Sherlocks cock and he felt it just wasn't playing fair but he wasn't going to complain. Not yet.

Okay, kissing....maybe for a minute...

Flirt was a fantastic kisser and Sherlock was feeling a bit dizzy and conflicted. He allowed himself the pleasure of reaching up to run his hands over Flirts shoulders. He had always admired Johns upper body and now, under his hands, it felt as good as he imagined. Flirt gave an electric moan and squirmed under Sherlocks hands.

Sherlock suddenly realised what he was doing. He pulled away to a groan from Flirt and held Flirts leaning body away from him by the biceps. By his really buff biceps...

"What, Sherlock?" Flirt whispered. "Kiss me again please, it's soooo goooooood...." 

"I want to kiss John, Flirt. I'm sorry. I feel bad kissing you when...it's John I want."

"I am a part of John. The sexy part." Flirt whispered. "This body, that wants you, It's still his gorgeous gorgeous body. I know he wants to be doing filthy things to you because I can hear him, in here." Flirt went to touch his own head but swerved and placed his hand on his heart.  
Sherlock drew in a ragged breath. That was nice. Unexpectedly sweet.

"When I kiss you, Flirt, I feel like I am betraying him." Sherlock told the gorgeous face staring up at him.

"But....I AM him." Flirt whimpered.

"You are a PART of him." Sherlock said, gently putting his hand to Flirts face. Flirt lent into his palm. Jesus, he was so tactile! "But when I kiss John, when I touch him, when I....fuck him, I want all of him. Every part. Not just one bit, albeit the beautiful part of him that is you Flirt. I just want...John."

"That's why you want him whole!" Flirt suddenly said, and sat back on his heels, to stare at Sherlocks face. "So you can snog HIM!" 

Sherlock was shocked to see tears in Flirts eyes. He was unsure what to do.

"Flirt, don't..don't cry please." Sherlock said, stroking Flirts cheek with his thumb. Even in his sadness, Flirt still leant into Sherlocks touch like a cat.

"Kiss me please." Flirt begged.

"I can't. If I kiss you..." Sherlock shook his head. "I want John."

Whatever Sherlock was expecting, it was not for Flirt to burst into tears. 

"Oh shit, Flirt, I'm sorry, please, stop crying..."

Flirts crying got harder. He tried to shove his fists into his mouth to stop crying but it didn't work. Tears and sobs tore from his throat and Sherlock got a little scared.

"Flirt...please, stop!"

"Not....Flirt!" 

Sherlock froze. There was another one, another Alter?

"It's John, you bastard, what the fuck am I doing in your room?"

#


	9. WE ARE JOHNLOCKED

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh thank heavens, Johnlock goodness!!!

SLEEPINGJOHN 

CHAPTER EIGHT: WE ARE JOHNLOCKED

Sherlock went into damage control so fast he actually STUTTERED!

"John, i-it was Flirt, he kissed...kissed ME..."

John was wiping the tears from his face.

"The fuck did you DO?" he demanded.

"I...John, I like Flirt, I really do, but kissing him...felt wrong!"

"You kissed me????"

"No, FLIRT kissed ME..."

"Why was Flirt crying?"

"Because I told him no!" Sherlock fluffed at his hair in frustration. "Okay, I kissed Flirt back...John, he is YOU, but he is okay with me lusting after him, and he WANTS me, and fuck it, it was sooooo hard to say no, but it felt wrong!"

John stared up at Sherlock. He mustered up all the intellectual parts of his brain and said:

"eh...?" 

"For what it's worth...I am pretty sure Flirt IS gay." Sherlock said gently then, appeasing John all the times John said he was not gay, they were not a couple. 

"Sherlock...let me get this right..." John said, the frown on his face deep. "Flirt kissed you..."

"Yes."

"You kissed Flirt back."

"Yes."

"You liked it, because Flirt allowed you to kiss what is essentially me shaped."

"Yes, John, what-"

"Sherlock, are YOU gay?"

Sherlock stared at John with the most incredulous look on his face.

"Are you dense John, of COURSE I am gay!"

Johns eyes went as round as saucers. He rose like a puppet on strings and slid to sit on the bed next to Sherlock, staring out into the space between the bed and the door but obviously not seeing anything.

"John, did you really not know that?" Sherlock asked softly next to him. John shook his head quickly.

"No." he said, then quickly looked around at his friend. "God, not that it matters, it's all..."

"Fine, yes, I know, you have said that before." Sherlock put in quickly.

Johns fingers twined themselves together. He was having what amounted to a full on identity crisis. It was confusing enough to have just discovered he was living with many separate facets of himself, but now to find out Sherlock was gay was just-

"Wait, you said...Flirt is OKAY with you lusting after him..."

"John, don't." Sherlock said softly. John blinked rapidly for a few moments. 

"You want me, Sherlock? Of all the blokes you could have fucking swooning at your feet you want short, damaged, intellectually inferior John Watson..."

"DON'T! I don't see you like that!" Sherlock said, desperate for John to try and see him through his own eyes. "Wait...what do you mean all the blokes..?"

"Have you not seen the way people respond to you?"

"Yes, usually they sling barbs at me because I have spewed out the more unfortunate parts of their lives for everyone to hear." Sherlock snorted.

"Sherlock, you move through a room like a sensuous eel, making anyone you deem worthy enough to smile at wriggle like a puppy. Sometimes the heat you give off makes people, men AND women, smoulder like camp fire embers. Why do you think people do shit for you? People will almost bend over backwards just to get you to look at them."

"You lie!"

"Shit, for the worlds most observant man you sure are blind sometimes." John said. "Even Donovan and Anderson end up doing what you want, and it sure ain't cos you are sweet to them. It is because you are so fucking pretty."

Sherlock was silent as he sorted through what John said, recalling time after time where looks passed, hands touched, eyes followed. He shook himself.

"Makes no difference to the work. And I don't want any of them." he said. He looked over at John, sitting there, right next to him, in that beautiful tight white shirt. Just recalling Flirt rubbing Johns nipple made Sherlocks throat a little tighter. 

"I..." John swallowed.

"I know, not gay." Sherlock said quietly, eyes bereft.

"Sherlock...I would really like you to kiss me." John said then.

Sherlock nearly jumped off the bed. 

"Keh...dah...ngh?" the proper genius said, round the big ball of lust that swelled in his throat.

"Kiss me." 

Sherlock stared at Johns mouth as they formed the words and he could not help the wee frisson that travelled up his spine.

"Flirt, if this is-"

"It's John. Promise. Sherlock, before I change my mind, kiss me. Now-umph!"

Sherlock had his lips on Johns before the w of "now" was properly formed. He slid up and wrapped himself around Johns body and smooshed his mouth on Johns with an uncontrolled wave of such lust he almost blanked out. Far from backing away, John found himself responding. His mouth followed Sherlocks lead and soon they were frenching with heated abandon.

John never imagined having another mans tongue inside him could be so sensuous. Who was he kidding, this was Sherlock, everything he did, from cleaning his teeth to stretching his long body out after a day at work, was sensuous.

John moaned quietly and was sure he heard Sherlock make a kind of whimpering sound. John found himself unresisting as Sherlock tightened his arms around him, bringing him in for a close, sweet cuddle, while his dirty mouth indicated to him it was anything but sweet, this contact, this touching.

Sherlock slid his long warm hands up to Johns face and used his thumbs to stroke Johns eyelids. John shivered and moaned again, thrusting his own tongue deeper into Sherlocks mouth. The answering moan was one of such lust and wanting that John felt all his blood go south to pool and fill his cock. 

Sherlock was gently forcing John onto the bed, still kissing him, and all John could do was surrender. His heart pounded in his chest when Sherlocks lovely lean body covered him, pressing his comforting weight along the whole length of him. He only realised he had parted his thighs and let Sherlock lay between them when Sherlock pressed his hips in, and John felt Sherlocks cock, hard and full, on his hip.

Sherlock broke from his lips and began to trail wonderfully full, wet, sucky kisses on his neck. John sighed, eyes fluttering, and wiggled under Sherlock. Sherlock groaned and attacked Johns neck. He used his hand on Johns chin to turn his head for easier access to the whole beautiful expanse that was Johns neck. His teeth, tongue and lips rendered John helpless.

"Oh God Sherlock, don't stop." he begged and poor Sherlock nearly imploded with pure lust. He took Johns wrists and pinned them, causing John to arch under him, and turn his head, inviting Sherlock to ravage to other side of his neck. Sherlock obliged, and for minutes or hours, all John could do was moan and breathe and beg and stutter as that beautiful mouth rendered him helpless.

Sherlock released his wrists and, sitting up a tiny bit off Johns chest, he slid his hands under the tight T-shirt which had been distracting Sherlock so much. John moaned and arched as Sherlocks hands touched his skin and slid up over his quivering ribs.

Once the shirt was bunched at Johns neck, Sherlock took one of Johns hard nipples in his mouth and sucked gently.

John hissed and arched and moaned and gasped. His hands fell into Sherlocks luxurious hair and he squeezed the follicles gently. Sherlock made such a filthy moan that John whimpered in pure lust. Sherlock turned his attention to the other nipple and John could not help but rut his hard cock up into Sherlocks stomach.

Sherlock trailed soft, teasing kisses down Johns chest and abdomen and over the interesting scar on his belly.Poor John could only gasp and beg, and thrust his hips. Pure thought left him and he became a mere lust-filled vessel.

When Sherlock slid his pyjama bottoms down John made such dirty sounds that Sherlock forgot John had never done this before and simply swallowed the whole of Johns hot length down in one sensuous suck.

John screamed, actually screamed, and arched himself up, then snapped his cock deeper into Sherlocks hot velvety mouth. Sherlock rode the initial thrust and then hollowed his cheek and began to slide up and then down, slowly, driving John crazy enough to beg.

"Sherlock that feels amazing, please don't stop, of that's lovely, lovely, oh my fucking God Sherlock what you do to me..."

Yeah, that worked, and Sherlock gave John the best head he had ever given anyone ever. It was all suction and wetness, swirling tongue, and hot hollow mouth. John was actually fucking Sherlocks mouth, back arched and fingers still twined in Sherlocks hair. With every thrust in John whimpered. He spread his thighs wider and all he could do was thrust helplessly.

Sherlock did not stop his relentless mouth and within minutes John was right on the edge.

"Fuck, Sherlock, fuck, so close, don't stop oh your mouth your mouth.." then incomprehensible sounds tore from his throat. 

He screamed out, and tensed, and came in long hot spurts, straight down Sherlocks throat. His body thrust without his prior knowledge, and matched every pump of his cock with a pump of his hips. He was vaguely aware of someone making hot abandoned sounds of lust and realised it was himself. He emptied himself down to the core, and trembled with aftershocks until his body could take no more and he collapsed back, releasing Sherlocks hair and relaxing so completely he thought for a minute he had passed out.

Sherlock kept his mouth on Johns cock as he swallowed the last of Johns come. Then he gently removed his mouth, cleaning off a little bit of residue, and slid up to flop beside his satiated flatmate.

"Fuck John, you are incredible."

"I know mate. You were not so bad yourself." John chuckled, too exhausted to even open his eyes.

"John...." Sherlock whispered, lightly nibbling Johns ear. "I think you might be gay for me."

John chuckled richly.

"No shit, Sherlock."

#


	10. SIFTING

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Alters shift and sort themselves

SLEEPINGJOHN

CHAPTER TEN: SIFTING

John was deliriously happy to sleep with Sherlock that night. The closeness and the warmth of Sherlock was addictive, and he felt like an over cooked noodle. 

He slept deeply.

SleepingJohn had other ideas however.

He woke Sherlock up with his rocking at some stage during the night.

"He says to tell you thank you for not rejecting him." SleepingJohn said above him. Sherlock was instantly awake. 

"UnderJohn says that?"

SleepingJohn nodded, hugging himself and rocking.

"He says to tell you...TheBody is happy."

"Can you ask how Flirt is?"

SleepingJohns whites-mostly eyes paused.

"He says to tell you Flirt cannot talk right now. He is pissed off."

Sherlock groaned.

"I am so sorry." he whispered. 

"UnderJohn says Flirt says he will forgive you." 

A pause. 

"He says Flirt says to tell you he is hurt that you love TheBody more than him."

"No no, that's not true. I love all the Alters for how they help TheBody. I just wanted to kiss.... John." Sherlock said. "Does Flirt understand?"

SleepingJohn paused.

"He says to tell you Flirt understands but is happy to sulk right now."

Sherlock chuckled. 

"Drama queen" he smiled. "But okay. Fair enough. And you, SleepingJohn, are you okay, and TheFuryandtheFear?"

"I am fine. No knife under the pillow." SleepingJohn said, rocking. 

A pause. "He says to tell you TheFuryandtheFear is singing sea shanties." 

Another pause. 

"He says to tell you he did not know TheFuryandtheFear knew sea shanties." 

Another pause. 

"He says to tell you TheFuryandtheFear has a nice voice."

"I would love to hear it one day." Sherlock said softly. "May I hug you?"

"No. You may hug John."

SleepingJohns eyes closed and he lay back down. Sherlock gave him a minute to leave, then dragged John into his warm body for a close hug. He did not think he could ever get tired of being able to touch John whenever he liked. As long as it was actually John. Fury and Sleepy did not seem to like touching, UnderJohn was never seen and Flirt would take it as an excuse to drop his robe again.

Sherlock smiled to himself. He was already getting used to having so many men in his life. 

It was most certainly not boring.

#


	11. HE LIKED IT WHEN I SCREAMED HIGH

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TheFuryandtheFear talk about Johns childhood.
> 
> Really icky stuff in this chapter.

SLEEPINGJOHN

CHAPTER 11:HE LIKED IT WHEN I SCREAMED HIGH

Lestrade turned up after dinner that night. He was greeted by a very enthusiastic John who kissed him and held both his hands.

"Wow, you look very nice Greg." he said, and dear lord, was John actually fluttering his eyes at him?

"Lestrade, meet Flirt." Sherlock said from the kitchen table as he tweaked notes. "Flirt, stop making me jealous, I will give you a spanking."

"Oh you TEASE!" Flirt giggled, and put his fingers coyly over his mouth.

"Er...." Lestrade said.

"Let me take your coat Greg." Flirt offered. Greg slid out of his coat as Flirt grabbed it and slid it slowly down his arms.

"Lovely. You are a very cute guy Greg."

"Flirt!" Sherlocks voice snapped and Flirt winked at Lestrade before turning to hang the coat on the rack. Sherlock walked around the corner and shook Lestrades hand.

"Glad you could make it. Flirt wanted to meet you properly."

"Hi!" Flirt said again, eyes bright, smile sunny.

"Uh...well...hi...erm, Flirt."

Flirt tittered. "I know, I'm gorgeous. Will YOU talk dirty to me? Sherlock won't."

"I just offered to spank you." Sherlock frowned.

"But you won't" Flirt pouted. "You wanna spank John!" then Flirt made horrid kissy noises and fluttered his eyes at Sherlock. He affected a high pitched voice and clasped his hands under his chin:

"oooo yes John!" he said "Let me spank your cute little arse."

"Flirt, heel!" Sherlock snapped but could not help smiling.

"You little fuckers!" Lestrade said then, looking from Flirt to Sherlock. "I knew you would make this work!"

"Don't say fuck Greg, you will get Sherlock all excited." Flirt commented then as he disappeared into the lounge room.

"So that's Flirt..." Lestrade nodded, eyebrows up.

"Formidable, isn't he." Sherlock said. 

They followed Flirt into the lounge room only to be greeted by John, who was on the sofa with a newspaper.

"Oh hey Greg, when did you get here?" John said, rising to shake Lestrades hand.

"I just...got here?" Lestrade looked confused. John stared closely at him.

"Oh God, which one did you meet?" he asked in a tortured voice.

"Flirt." Lestrade said, and smiled. "I like him."

"Git" John smiled.. 

"Get comfy on the couch Lestrade, and we can start." Sherlock ordered. He held John to him for a second. "You okay?" he whispered and John nodded. He settled into the lazy boy.

"Wait..." Lestrade said from over at the couch. "You and Sherlock...?"

"Yes. Problem?" Sherlock snapped as he turned the kitchen chair to face Johns lazy boy.

"Kinda, I have a crush on Flirt..."

"Pft." Sherlock spat, and John laughed, a rich sound, even as he snuggled down into the lazy boy.

"All you are required to do is sit still Lestrade. Make no sound, even if what you hear needs a comment. You are NOT here as far as TheBody is concerned."

"TheBody?"

"All of my Alters are known collectively as TheBody" John explained.

"Ah." Lestrade nodded and made himself comfortable.

Sherlock switched on the video and began.

Putting John under was quicker this time. He was comfortable with Sherlock and they had done this before. It was familiar.

He concentrated on Sherlocks wonderful voice and then....slid down.

"I would like to speak with TheFuryandtheFear tonight if I may." Sherlock began with.

But as always, SleepingJohn came first. He protected TheBody when he was asleep, or hypnotised. He sat up, curled over to hug himself and rocked. His eyes went white and Lestrade was amazed at how much difference there was between John and SleepingJohn.

"He says to tell you TheFuryandtheFear knows what you want."

"Is he okay to do this?"Sherlock asked.

A pause.

"He says to tell you Fury said it will not be pretty."

Another pause.

"He says to tell you it was a long time ago. He says to tell you that TheFuryandtheFear has got this and if you feel angry at Da..."

A pause.

"He says to tell you that if TheFuryandtheFear thinks you don't trust that he has got this, then TheFuryandtheFear will hurt TheBody."

A pause.

"He says to tell you that if you cannot do this then we cannot go on tonight. Do you promise?"

Sherlock was pleasantly surprised that UnderJohn guessed how Sherlock might react when told how his lovers early life was less than perfect.

"I promise." Sherlock said. "I do not want TheFuryandtheFear to hurt TheBody."

A pause

"He says to ask...the other in the room?"

"I promise" Lestrade said quietly from the couch.

SleepingJohn rocked.

"He says TheFuryandtheFear is ready."

SleepingJohn lay back down and closed his eyes. In three seconds he had unfurled to lay flat, and then, one of his hands curled into a fist and the angry clenched face of TheFuryandtheFear appeared. 

Lestrade suppressed a gasp. The guy looked angry and scared and violent. 

"Ask your questions Sherlock." Fury spat, glaring.

"Thank you..." Sherlock swallowed. "Can you remember when you came to live with TheBody?"

"Yes. TheBody was 5. He was in pain. I came to protect him from Da."

"How did you protect him?"

"I made him run if he could, and hide. I made him fight if he could not run or hide. I made TheBody forget."

"Did you get hurt?"

"Yes. Of course I did!" Fury snapped, eyes flashing.

"Can you tell me about it?" Sherlock kept his voice low and even. But his heart was pounding. He had already sat through Afghanistan, this might be way worse.

"Da liked to make me scream. He liked it when I screamed real high. That's how he knew he got to me, when my screams were high. He liked it when I pissed my pants. He liked to hide the bruises. He liked to use weapons on me, bricks, wood, his belt buckle. He said I was too disgusting to touch so he never used his hands."

"Did he ever sexually assault you?"

"Did you hear what I said?" Fury screamed. "He said I was too disgusting to touch with his hands! Why would he fuck me? Does that help you Sherlock, to know at least he never stuck his cock in my arse?"

"No." Sherlock said. He couldn't really say anything else.

"Damn right it doesn't prick!"

Sherlock coughed around a harsh lump in his throat and went on:

"Where was your mother, your sister, when these attacks happened?" 

"PAH! Ma was useless. Too weak. Harry sometimes stopped him...." Furys fist shook with anger. "The stupid bitch! He would hurt her too! I told her to stay down, out of his sight but sometimes she would disobey me and then she would get hurt too, and he would hurt me worse! She never listened!"

TheFuryandtheFear punched the arm of the lazy boy five or six times, spittle coming from his mouth. "Stupid bitch stupid bitch stupid bitch!!!!"

Sherlock waited until this violence had passed. He wanted to defend Harry but knew TheFuryandtheFear would not want to hear it. 

"Did anyone ever find out?"

"Nobody. I did my job properly, Detective Holmes!"

Lestrade hated the look oh Furys face when he spat out Sherlocks name. He looked like one of the many meth addicts he had arrested over the years. TheFuryandtheFear was right. It was not pretty.

"They had this punishment in the desert, the insurgents." TheFuryandtheFears voice dropped low. "They would hang a prisoner down a well by he wrists. The rope would cut his skin the more he would struggle. It was torture." Fury sneered then. "When I was 10 my Da did this to me every month or so, for three years. Only he didn't leave me alone to hang. He threw stuff down on me. Broken glass. Sand. Lighted matches. His own shit, Detective." his eyes brightened and he sat up, then forward.

"You see why Afghanistan was a doddle for me until The Major and his gherkha knife. Why I did not need to come out properly until then. That war was just like being back in the womb for me Sherlock. The sand was mothers milk, the blood was a lullaby, the horrors humans did to each other was just like sitting round the Watson Dinner table on a Sunday afternoon." Fury lay back down but did not take his eyes off Sherlock nor unlock his fist.

"I tell a lie. I came out a bit before Major Lickspittle and his happy sushi knife." Fury said then. "Sometimes, for punishment, Da sent TheBody to The Window Seat. He would open it up, tie my hands and ankles with plastic cord, gag my mouth with whatever bit of cloth he had at hand, close the seat and sit on it. For hours. I loved it. TheBody and I could sleep, could rest. No surprises. Never any surprises. And I was compliant when I got out, so Da could beat me and I would scream real high pitched, like he liked, but I would not cry. He did not care if I cried or not as long as I screamed and wet myself. Wetting yourself on cue is easy, you'd be surprised."

Fury looked up at the ceiling.

"Solitary confinement was wonderful." He sighed. "I sent John there three times before the gherkha Incident. John figured he fucked up but he didn't. It was me. We needed a rest so I took him back to that window seat. Three times. A total of thirty-two lovely hours of silence, no pressure. Best time we had in the whole war."

Sherlock worked his throat, swallowing. He coughed and Fury looked at him.

"You are doing real well Sherlock." he said. "I woulda been screaming by now, well, sometimes, I was." and he laughed a bitter laugh.

"How did it end? With Da?" Sherlock whispered.

"Oh, Ma killed him." Fury said. "Shot him. Then herself. Harry found them. I was at Cadets by then but he would still...sniff round. And I let him. I was patterned by then. But Ma cracked one day. Shot him. Good for her, good for her...." Fury nodded and smiled lightly.

"Fury...I know...I promised..." Sherlock said. "But can you understand how much I love TheBody, how much I love John, and when you say these things...." he paused. Furys eyes were bright.

"You want to kill him, Detective?" he hissed.

"I do. I so do."

"Welcome to TheFuryandtheFears world." Fury said. "I wanted to kill him too, but Ma beat us all to it."

"So, not so weak your Ma?"

"No, not so weak." Fury deflated. "I'm tired."

Furys eyes rolled and closed and TheBody went back under. 

Sherlock said nothing. It looked like John was sleeping. Sherlock wanted John to sleep.

A small sound came from the couch. Shit, he'd forgotten about Lestrade! He looked over but all he could see was the top of Leatrades head as he leant on his arms, over his knees, and sobbed.

Sherlock sighed a deep sigh, and quietly brought John back up.

#


	12. UNDER MYCROFTS UMBER-ELLA ELLA ELLA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silly Mycroft tries to push his brother around with Fury in the room.
> 
> Then there is swearing in French and a really hefty blow job.

SLEEPINGJOHN

CHAPTER 12: UNDER MYCROFTS UMBER-ELLA ELLA ELLA

Sherlock crossed the room to John, lent down and gathered him into his arms for a very long hug. John snuggled into Sherlocks chest, fisting the shirt. It felt really good. He smelled pretty.

"What did I do to deserve this?" he murfled into Sherlocks clothes.

"Not for you, for me." Sherlock answered in clipped tones and John sighed.

"Worse than Afghanistan?"

"No, not worse. Just...really bad John. Really bad." he shuddered. "I am never going to let you see that video. I am going to burn it!"

"No. My choice. I get to destroy it." John said. "Or not. My choice."

Sherlock nodded.

"Oh, Greg!" John cried then, remembering the Detective Inspector.

"Give him a minute." Sherlock said into Johns hair.

John peeked through Sherlocks arm to see Lestrade still bowed over himself on the couch.

"Oh...." he said. "okay."

Sherlock kissed him then, a lovely soft kiss on his lips and John closed his eyes. It felt lovely. Got his heart skipping. Thrummed in his veins. He pulled Sherlock in by the shirt for a deeper kiss and Sherlock relaxed, pliant, into him. For a while they were content to tongue kiss each other but then other needs arose..

"God, you two, get a room!" came Lestrades tear-roughened voice.

Sherlock and John broke apart and John de-reclined his lazy boy. He stood, stretching.

"Tea?" he offered.

Before he could get any answers though, the front door slammed open. Greg went for his gun, and Sherlock crouched automatically, ready for action

"Sherlock you complete Miscreant!" came Mycrofts voice as he came marching into the room. "What is this I hear about-"

In two seconds John had relieved Mycroft of his dangerous umbrella, flipped it over and had bailed the elder Holmes up against the wall using the hook of the umbrella to press against Mycrofts throat. Mycroft put his hands up in surrender.

John was staring at Mycroft with the type of eyes the politician had not seen in years, that of a dangerous man with nothing left to lose. But on John, they looked way worse. He was usually so....NICE.

"John, I can assure you, I mean no harm..."

Sherlock bent to Johns ear.

"Fury, you know this is my cock of a brother. I am sorry he scared you but he is no danger to TheBody or us. Let him go."

Sherlocks deep tone seemed to turn something off in John. His eyes softened and became Dr Watsons again.

"Jesus, Mycroft, I'm sorry!" John dropped the umbrella and Mycroft dropped his hands. The elder Holmes straightened his tie and coughed.

"Put your gun away Gregory." he said, without turning to Lestrade. Greg holstered the gun.

"To what do we owe your gracious presence Mycroft?" Sherlock asked. 

"I was here to enquire as to why you were practicing hypnotism without having done a proper course and dissuade you from your folly, but I see why now. Carry on."

"Thank you for Your Graces permission." Sherlock snapped.

"Drink, Mycroft?" Lestrade offered then. "Let's go to your club."

"That would be very nice Gregory." Mycroft acquiesced.

"Oh don't tell me you two-"

"Hush Sherlock. I don't talk about your love life." Mycrofts eyes went from Sherlock to John and back again. "Kindly refrain from commenting on mine."

Lestrade shook Sherlocks hand and clapped Johns shoulder. 

"See you for drinks Thursday mate." he said, and he and Mycroft disappeared down the stairs, shutting the front door as they went.

"What did my Alter do to Mycroft?" John asked.

"Went commando on him." Sherlock grinned. "I have never seen Mycroft disarmed so efficiently. Course, you were lucky his minions didn't run you through."

"I want to do that to you." John said suddenly.

"Run me through?" 

"No...have you against the wall."

"Doctor Watson, I have never heard of such a filthy prospect in my life!" Sherlock mock protested as he walked backwards. His heels hit the nearest wall and he held his hands up to his shoulders in surrender. "Oh dear...."

John was across the room and on him in three seconds, pinning Sherlocks wrists to the wall and covering his mouth with his own. He pressed the whole of his body on Sherlocks, effectively capturing him to hold him still while his tongue plundered his mouth. 

Sherlock responded instantly, giving his mouth to John. He battled Johns tongue with his own, worked his jaw in time to Johns jaw, sucked what he could get, bit other parts until John was dry humping him up against the wall.

John stopped kissing him but kept his body up against Sherlocks, and tightening his grip on Sherlocks wrists.

"What you do to me with that sinful mouth of yours Sherlock" John whispered, eyes hooded and lustful, staring at Sherlocks wet parted lips. 

"I want your mouth all over me, all at once." He lent in, lips just millimetres from Sherlocks, lashes almost on his cheeks as he stared down intently. God, it was so erotic, having John look at just one part of him like that. 

Sherlock squirmed, only a tiny bit, his trousers were getting uncomfortable, but John held him fast.

"Your mouth used to keep me awake at night." John whispered and Sherlock bit his bottom lip and whimpered.

"Thinking about it on my throat, at my inner thighs, all over my neck...." John whispered. "Thinking about kissing you long and hard...."

"..unh..." Sherlock squeaked.

"Thinking about your mouth on my cock, ssssssucking me." Johns nose wrinkled and he bit his own bottom lip to draw out the hissing. "Gorgeous....used to come so hard, your name on my lips..."

"...ngh..." Sherlock swallowed.

John let go one of Sherlocks hands and moved his lower half out a little bit.

"Undo your trousers. Let them slip down." he ordered.

Sherlock did so, his eyes boring into Johns. He fumbled a bit. Using one hand was hard enough but with Johns dirty eyes looking all over his face like he wanted to eat him, it made Sherlocks fingers stop working efficiently.

Finally with a floomph and a jingle Sherlocks trousers slipped to the ground to pool around his feet.

"Good." John said, repinning the wayward wrist, voice so low Sherlock could barely hear him. "Kiss me."

Sherlock fell onto Johns mouth and Frenched him lasciviously. He moaned into Johns mouth, his tongue ravishing everywhere it could. Johns tongue met every thrust and twirl, a velvety snake, slipping everywhere all at once. 

Sherlocks heart tripled its pace and he could hardly breathe. He knew John was sexy, but dirty? He had no idea. Dirty John and his filthy mouth were driving Sherlock nicely insane with lust. Mix that in with his growing love and admiration and Sherlock was lost.

John slid Sherlocks wrists down until they were at his sides and then changed his grip. He moved his body out and slightly again and then nosed Sherlocks neck. Sherlock moaned and let his head fall back, exposing his whole throat to John.

"Do it..." he said before he even realised he was going to say anything.

Johns hot mouth on his throat was exquisite. He took his time, sucking, licking and biting all of Sherlocks skin, making some parts sting, some parts ache, some parts throb. He was rough and then gentle, the rough again. Nibbling. Scraping his teeth on the sweet spot and causing Sherlocks skin to shiver and dance.

Then, just as Sherlock was gasping for more, John slid to his knees, found Sherlocks straining cock and sucked it all the way down his throat in one sudden assault.

Sherlock actually yelled. A short bark of sound, followed by cursing. For some reason this made John suck harder, deeper, and faster. He cursed again and yes, John moaned and increased his pace. When Sherlock let fly a third set of curses John let his cock go and gasped.

"French, Sherlock? Swearing in French? Have you any idea what that does to me?"

He had no idea until then that his filthy words had been in French. Oh but now he knew, he used this knowledge to his advantage. He looked down and said "Please suck me John" in French, his voice low.

"Oh God...." John moaned and latched back onto Sherlocks cock with a vengeance. He worked Sherlocks fat member with tongue and lips, and soon Sherlock was fucking his mouth, begging in French to be made to come, to suck him harder, to go faster, all with a smattering of curses and dirty talk. All in French. Until finally he cried out Johns name in a wretched broken voice and came, deep into Johns willing throat.

Once spent Sherlock slipped down the wall. His legs could no longer support him. John stared at his gorgeous flatmate, hair ruffled, shirt asunder, neck red. He was rolling his head on the wall, eyes closed, lips red and parted, and speaking broken sentences in French, trying to get his breath back.

"Mine." John said, and took Sherlocks abused lips in his again.

And, despite having been used and drained and half dead, Sherlock kissed him back, just as deeply and with just as much passion as he always did.

#


	13. UNDERJOHN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just when you thought you had met all the Alters...

SLEEPINGJOHN

CHAPTER 13:UNDERJOHN

"Get your coat John, we have a lovely murder to investigate." Sherlock said over breakfast the next day.

John grabbed his coat and in five minutes they were in a cab and on their way to meet Lestrade at the crime scene.

For once Anderson was not there to insult Sherlock and, although Donovan was, she actually was too busy chatting to Detective Dimock to do anything but sneer.

Sherlock and John climbed the stairs to the second floor flat where Lestrade was waiting.

"Sherlock, Dr Watson" Lestrade nodded and let them under the tape to enter the high end market flat.

Sherlock went on to do his thing and John lent on the wall next to Lestrade.

"How are you doing John?"

"Good, good...you?"

"Not bad."

"so...you and Mycroft...?"

"Yeah." Lestrade grinned like an idiot and John joined in. 

"Congrats." He said. "Now we can commiserate on Thursday about our impossible Holmes brothers."

Lestrade laughed quietly. It was a crime scene after all.

"Mate, I just wanted to say.." Greg said then, sobering up. "I am sorry for what you went through as a child."

"I wasn't there." John put up one hand. "I don't remember any of it." 

"Well, if I had met your Da....put it this way, he would have fallen down the stairs of the watch house...maybe....eight or nine times?"

"Thanks Greg." John smiled at the sentiment. He yawned, eyes closed, then stretched like a cat. "I am going to get a tea from that lovely mobile coffee van. You need anything?"

"No thanks mate."

Sherlock was up close and personal with the corpse and his magnifying glass so John eased out of the room, and went back down the stairs to the mobile van they had on a lot of crime scenes now. It was an awesome business venture, worked well on the difficult vases where officers were detained for hours on end.

"Tea please darling, white, no sugar." John ordered from the lady in the van. It was handed to him nice and hot and he thanked her before wandering off to lean against the low wall that surrounded the block of flats.

After a while Dimock wandered over with his cup of tea and sat next to John.

"Dunno why I'm here really." he commented to John. "Lestrade and Holmes have it sorted."

"Welcome to my world." John laughed, brushing his fringe from his eyes. "Tea is Devine though."

"There is that."

"I have been meaning to ask you for the longest time, where did you get that scar from, on your chin? It's pretty impressive." John smiled at him. "Please say knife fight...."

Dimock barked a laugh.

"Knife fight." he said.

"No!" Johns eyes opened wide, then he saw Dimock chuckle. "Oh you beast!"

"Nah, fell off my bike when I was a kid. Showing off to the girls next door. Hit a gravel patch and P'CHANG, over the handle bars." Dimock motioned his hand as if it was a body dive bombing. "Crashed and burned."

"Did you get the girl?"

"Nope."

"Oh, shame..."

"JOHN!" came the dulcet tones of Sherlock Holmes. John jumped and spilled his tea.

"Sherlock, jeepers-"

"With ,me, John, if you please." Sherlock gripped Johns arm by the bicep and pulled him up. "Leave the tea." 

John waved to Dimock and followed Sherlock as he dragged him rather insistently across the front of the flats, down the alley and behind some skip bins.

"What do you think you were doing?"

"Just flirting." Blue eyes battered at him.

"Flirt, you cannot be here!" Sherlock hissed.

"But Dimock is so hunky!"

"And straight. Why are you here?"

"Kiss me."

"Flirt, no!" Sherlock hissed.

"Why did you drag me here in this dark, secluded alley, if you are not going to kiss me Sherrrrrlock?" Flirt purred, leaning back against the wall with promise in his eyes, hands behind his back.

"Flirt..."

Flirt flipped his hair as if shooing a fly with his fringe.

"Oh Greggy said something about the other night and John got all...thingy, you know. And you were with your corpse, so I took John out for a nice cup of tea. It's not my fault Dimock is so dishy!"

"Flirt...you cannot just do that!"

"Sherlock, are you jealous?" Flirt asked, and licked his lips, just slightly. Sherlock slitted his eyes and then with a suddenness that made Flirt gasp, Sherlock fell on him and kissed him. Hard. Effectively pinning Flirts arms where they were behind his back by using his whole body on him, crushing him to the wall. 

Flirt moaned and was straight away pushing his tongue in and leaning into Sherlocks tall strong body.

Flirt kissed differently to John. Wetter, more desperate. It was this that brought Sherlock back to his senses. This was not John. He pulled off Flirt and shook him.

"You cannot be here Flirt!"

"What do you suggest? Ban TheBody from coming? You will crush him."

"Then control yourself! Don't come on to every bloke in tight pants you see!"

"You are the only man for me Sherrrrlock..." Flirt said.

"Clearly! Don't give me that Flirt, I saw the look in your eyes when you were chatting Dimock up." Sherlock said and shook Flirt again.

"I like jealous Sherlock, so much PASSION." Flirt said, emphasising the word "passion" with a nose wrinkle.

Sherlock stared at Flirt with flinty eyes. 

"This is why TheBody has to integrate." Sherlock said then. "I need John with me on crime scenes. I cannot be worrying if you will snog all the police in the Yard, or if TheFuryandtheFear will hack at everyone with the harsh side of the crime scene tape!"

Flirt closed his eyes. When he opened them a new person stood there. Slouchy but aware, he crossed one arm over his body and rested the other on it in a T shape, fingers of this hand pressed to his lips pensively.

"We have a problem Sherlock." he said in a very quiet voice. "I am losing control of the Alters."

"I don't recognise you." Sherlock said.

"I am Hamish." Hamish said. "You know me as UnderJohn. I am the glue. And The Glue is coming unstuck...."

#


	14. THE FORCE IS STRONG IN THIS ONE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hamish lays it out for Sherlock.

SLEEPINGJOHN

CHAPTER 14: THE FORCE IS STRONG IN THIS ONE

Sherlock wrapped up the crime scene ("Check for someone close to the victim who has a Welsh Corgi.") and got Hamish home as quickly as he could. 

Hamish was a silent and still Alter, quite observant, and Sherlock found himself admiring the man.

He made tea, of course, while Hamish stared out the window of the flat, flicking one set of fingers as his eyes followed cars and people that passed.

They sat at the kitchen table in companionable silence. Sherlock found himself forgetting that Hamish was an Alter. It was almost like sitting with himself. That thought was disconcerting to say the least.

"How long have you been in TheBody?" Sherlock finally asked. 

Hamish puffed a small laugh, and turned his dark eyes to Sherlock.

"John, please. The others call us TheBody. I have always known him as John."

"You were the first?"

"Yes." Hamish nodded. "I was made to create the others, so John didn't have to."

"Ah, clever." Sherlock said, almost under his breath.

"John is very clever."

Hamish sipped his tea while Sherlock drummed his fingers, thinking.

"So what has happened, Hamish, to make your control unravel?" Sherlock asked.

"You happened Sherlock." Hamish smiled. "It is such a good thing, for John. To have you. He adores you. Would do anything for you. Even have himself hypnotised to try and put himself back together, be whole, to quote a certain Consulting Detective."

"Yes, he is eager to try."

"It's not good for him Sherlock. Fury and I have held him together for so long. What you are doing, trying to do, It's tearing him apart."

"He is already in pieces, I am trying to put him back!"

"He will never work that way Sherlock, don't you understand? He NEEDS to have separate functioning pieces to work as a whole."

Sherlocks eyes looked to the ceiling as he took this in.

Then he looked back at Hamish.

"Is it worse now I am making Fury recall his childhood, and Afghanistan?" 

"Much worse. John cannot be made remember Sherlock. That's why we were created. So John can exist. Without us he would have swallowed his gun years ago."

"Oh don't say that!" Sherlock whispered, horrified.

Hamish shrugged.

"You see Sherlock? How important it is? He cannot be integrated. He must always be the sum of his separate parts. The human mind is spectacular. The need to survive is one of the main driving forces behind all of us."

Sherlock was so still it was as if he was stone. His mind churned with this information.

"John tried to tell me that. He asked me why I wanted to fix him. I told him I would make him better. I made him worse."

"You did not make him worse. What's worse than shattering to bits you stupid man?"

"Stupid...?" Sherlocks eyebrow raised.

"Yes. Stupid. For all your brains Sherlock you know as well as we do that you can be very dense. The worst thing that can happen to a man has already happened to John Watson. You are nothing less than the miracle waters of Lourdes for John, and to think yourself any less would do both you and he a great disservice."

Hamish leaned forward and pointed at Sherlock.

"That's right, I said, the miracle waters of Lourdes."

Sherlock took all that in. 

Processed it. 

In order for John to function he had to be in pieces. 

The whole illogical statement actually made sense. The fact that John made his own people to help get him through life showed a remarkable strength of will, a terriers tenacious grip, a fighter.

Sherlock could see now it was too late to try and make one person out of the complexities that were John Watson. 

John Watson was NOT one individual. His Da had seen to that. 

"Stupid stupid stupid..." Sherlock said, and then ruffled his own hair in frustration. "I have been so stupid!"

"There you go, not so hard was it?" Hamish was smiling at him.

"You...are a remarkable Alter Hamish Watson. Almost as clever as me."

"Pft, Sherlock, I piss all over your proper genius status and kick the dirt over it before I leave" Hamish was grinning at Sherlock, flicking his fingers.

"Hardly." Sherlock sniffed. Hamish laughed.

"Don't panic Sherlock, you are still the cleverest one in the room."

"The hypnotism...I should stop that."

"You should." Hamish agreed. "You should also know that you can call out any Alter you like now. There is something about your voice John responds to." Hamish waggled his eyebrows like a dirty schoolboy and Sherlock smiled.

"What about Johns childhood, and the war..."

"Parts of us remember everything. He has not forgotten. It's just John himself who should not remember. He has Alters for that, strong Alters who can cope much better than him."

"Will he, you, create more?"

Hamish shrugged. "Flirt was a surprise. But a nice one. Who's to say what Johns amazing mind will do next. And don't feel guilty wanting to sex up any of us. We are all John. Just let John know how much you love him."

"uh..." Sherlock said.

"Come on, Flirt is adorable!"

"He is that. And frustrating..."

"Think of it this way. It takes five of us to satisfy you. You are one hell of a man Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock could not help but blush a little.

"As are all of you, John Watson."

#


	15. GUNPOWDER TREASON AND PLOT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes, dear Watson, you shall go to the ball!!!

SLEEPINGJOHN

CHAPTER 15: GUNPOWDER TREASON AND PLOT

John groaned as if in great pain.

"Dimock, really?"

"Yes. Flirt was all over him."

"Oh you have got to be shitting me!"

"Asking about his scar."

"Fuuuuuuuck me!"

"Practically sitting on his lap.."

"It is not funny!"

Sherlock laughed and then to Johns great surprise, lifted the doctor into his arms and twirled him around. 

"John, it is funny and wonderful and unpredictable....just like you!"

"Bloody hell, put me down you bean pole or I will sick up on your shoes!"

"John I love you." Sherlock said then and kissed John a big old smackaroonie on the lips before setting him down again.

"What in the hell brought this on?"John asked, straightening his cardi and flattening his hair.

"I had a chat with a wonderful man called Hamish." Sherlock said. "He is the first of your Alters. He is the one who actually brings your Alters to life, can you believe that, and he is handsome and clever and clued in and good looking and he set me straight on a few things."

"Steady on, you sound like you're in love with him!"

"I am, you crazy silly Doctor, I am in love with him!" Sherlock went to hug John again but John put one warning hand up and Sherlock backed off, but kept grinning. "I am in love with all of you, all your Alters, even the scary one. And I am really sorry I tried to fix what, as they say, ain't broke!"

"I did tell you." John grumbled.

"You did, and I am sorry I didn't listen, but Hamish told me what a cock I was being and it all makes sense!"

"You just like having five boyfriends!" 

"True. But you're my favourite John, you are the original, the one, the only, John Watson." Sherlock laughed at Johns face. "....and if any of your Alters seduce me I promise to tell you."

"Oh we'll, thanks soooooooo much!"

"In great anatomical detail."

"Git." 

"And take pictures."

"Prat."

"YOUR prat." Sherlock smiled and took John into his arms. John paused and then relaxed. Sherlock smelled nice and was in a good mood, despite having being essentially told off by one of his Alters.

There was a tap at the door and Sherlock sighed.

"Go away Mycroft we are not home."

The door was opened, slowly Sherlock was satisfied to note, and Mycroft Holmes slid in. Sherlock was also pleased to note he held his battle umbrella tightly, ready to wield it if need be.

"Mycroft" John acknowledge, peeling himself from his boyfriends impressive arms.

"Doctor Watson." Mycroft nodded. "Sherlock."

"To what do we owe this pleasure?" Sherlock said then, straightening his shirt. "Ready for round two?

"Most amusing Sherlock." Mycroft said, but didn't let go of the umbrella. Sherlock smirked.

"Tea?" John offered and popped off to rattle about in the kitchen.

Mycroft sat down where Hamish had been 15 minutes before and Sherlock resumed his seat as well.

"I understand Doctor Watson has developed a rather intriguing disorder." Mycroft said.

"He has. Do not exploit him." Sherlock said. Mycroft raised one perfectly groomed eyebrow.

"I assure you Sherlock that was the last thing on my mind."

"The last?"

"Well, second last."

"And there it is, the purpose for your visit."

"I am inviting you and your good Doctor to the ball Sherlock"

"Do I get to wear a princess dress and glass slippers?" John commented as he put a cup of tea in front of Mycroft.

"No Doctor, I would think Sherlock would wear the slippers in your little domestic arrangement."

John laughed a quick laugh then sobered to a grin when he saw Sherlocks face. He shuffled back to get the other cups of tea.

"The annual Police Ball is coming up next week. I would like you and John to attend."

"How kind of you to invite us." Sherlock said. "We decline."

"It is not strictly for pleasure."

"Go on."

"I have intercepted some mildly alarming emails to do with disrupting the ball next week." Mycroft sipped his tea as John returned with his and Sherlocks. "Lovely Doctor Watson, thank you."

John nodded as he sat in the only other chair at the table.

"Great, dancing and death, the perfect night out." he commented.

"Not necessarily death, Doctor Watson."

"Oh well that eases my mind."

"We have reason to believe our lovely friend Moriarty is coming out of...shall we say retirement, to make a special effort to be at the ball."

Sherlock began tapping at the table with his fingers.

"No, Sherlock, no!" John said, then he turned to Mycroft. "Why wave him in his face you bastard. You know he won't say no now!"

"I need him Doctor Watson. He is the yin to Moriartys' yang."

"But the man is insane!"

"Some might say the same about you doctor yet here you are, functioning perfectly in society." Mycroft sipped his tea. "Some may also have said that about my brother before he met you."

Sherlock snorted but didn't deny it.

"Give me all you have Mycroft. Copies of the emails, the address they came from, any pictures, all the intal."

John groaned and rubbed his eyes.

"Cocking fuck." was his comment. It went unheard as the Holmes brothers put their heads together to plot and scheme like witches from a children's nightmare.

"Sod it, I'm going to watch Dr Who."

#


	16. CAUGHT IN A SELF ROMANCE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock teases John unmercifully in the limo on the way to the ball.
> 
> This one is just for bofurlove who is having a crappy day.
> 
> Take your knickers off for this one darling, they will combust otherwise!

SLEEPINGJOHN

CHAPTER 16: CAUGHT IN A SELF ROMANCE

"Hot damn..." John Watson finally said as he and Sherlock made their way to the ball in a Mycroft provided limousine.

Sherlock looked divinely fuckable in a midnight black velvet suit and crisp white shirt, no tie. Hair perfectly mussed, face impassive but flushed with excitement. He was, after all, going to face his true arch nemesis. He stared out at London at night, lights passing by in his bright sloe eyes.

John ran his hand up Sherlocks long velvety thigh and Sherlock shivered back to awareness. He smiled at John and licked his lips.

"You look good enough to eat." he purred.

"Oh I am way too much for you." John whispered, his eyes smouldering. He was aware he scrubbed up nice in a gorgeous black tailored suit, white shirt and tie, but he was nothing compared to the beauty of Sherlock.

"Are you?" Sherlock asked in that low voice John loved so much. It went straight to the centre of him, warm and liquid. "Too much for me?" he added, and brushed his lips across Johns throat. John shivered and let out a tiny gasp.

"Way too much." he whispered, eyes closed, relishing the sensation of Sherlocks beautiful mouth on him. He stroked along Sherlocks thigh again. God, was their anything sexier than his boyfriend in velvet? 

"I think not Doctor Watson." Sherlock murmured into Johns neck and Johns heart jumped up its rhythm. Sherlock reached down and took Johns hand in his own. Then he deliberately and slowly put one of Johns fingers in his mouth and sucked back on it.

"Oh God." John moaned thickly, his throat gumming over in pure lust. He watched Sherlocks pretty mouth close around his finger and suck it back again, this time with his eyes open, staring into Johns face.

"You make me want to do such filthy things John" Sherlock said softly. He slowly slid his hand up his own leg to gently cup the swelling of his cock, packed tightly in the sensuous velvet of his trousers. He began to rub himself, falling back against the cabs seat and parting his lips. He stared straight at John, heat rising in his face as his long fingers caressed his cock.

"Stop...please...." John whispered, getting so instantly hard he nearly fainted. The sight of Sherlock self romancing short wired his brain.

Sherlock did not stop. In fact, still looking straight into Johns eyes he moved his other hand inside his open shirt.

"NooOOoo God please don't..." John begged, but Sherlock ignored him and began to play with his own nipple, letting out a salacious moan and undulating under his own hands. He closed his eyes and arched into himself, lips parted and wet. John stopped breathing, paralysed.

"Such dirty things I used to do to myself John." Sherlock whispered, keeping his eyes closed and arching up into himself. "God John, I used to pleasure myself for hours imagining it was you touching me..."

"I am dying..." John said in a low husky voice. 

Sherlock gave a tiny gasp and it was obvious he had pinched his own nipple painfully. John whimpered. Sherlock worked his velvet-covered cock harder and made tiny encouraging sounds to himself.

"Oh yes John touch me there, harder, please, oh God yes I love your hands on me..." He whispered, staring straight into Johns eyes as he begged his imaginary John.

All the saliva dried up in Johns mouth and his vision narrowed.

"Part your thighs." he ordered and Sherlock moaned and instantly obeyed, giving his hand more access to his now rock hard cock.

"Yes John touch me rub me lick me take me..." Sherlock whispered, closing his eyes and humping into his own flat hand, rubbing the velvet bulge vigorously. "John I am yours do anything anything to me please please please..."

"You have to stop, you're killing me Sherlock." John begged, and sat on his own hands. The urge to tear off Sherlocks clothes and fuck him right there in the cab was almost overwhelming. He had never felt so close to losing control before and it felt magnificent!

"John ah John please please use your hands on me yes just like that baby oh you know just what you do to me..."

"Oh please Sherlock for the love of God, stop..." 

"John you drive me crazy keep touching me oh right there faster oh baby I am close so close ah John..." Sherlock locked eyes with John and said in the most debauched voice in the whole history of the known Universe:

"Fuck me...."

John grabbed both of Sherlocks wrists and physically made Sherlock stop playing with himself.

"Fuck.You.Sherlock!" John hissed. "I am going to find a quiet room at this ball, bend you over the nearest hard surface and fuck your arse so fucking hard you will be screaming my name by the third thrust. Now keep your God Damned hands off yourself you fucking little cock teasing cunt!"

Sherlock was panting and shivering. Where in the hell had that John come from? And it was just John, not an Alter. He could see Johns eyes were his normal eyes, just heavy with lust. So, John then. Tasty dominant John.

"Yes John..." 

"And stop making my name sound like sex!" John said then. "Christ, I can't even kiss you, I will come in my pants like a Uni student..."

Sherlock struggled to sit up and John let his wrists go. He adjust his cock a little and tried to get his breathing back under control.

"We're here." John announced gruffly.

"What you said, about the room, the surface..."

John nodded slowly.

"You promise?"

"Oh I meant every word Sherlock. Every damn word." 

Sherlock swallowed slowly and nodded, eyes bright.

"Unless we get blown up first of course." John whispered as he lent over Sherlock and opened his door.

#


	17. BALLS ARE FUN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets what he is promised and then a tightly compact Irish suit of extras.

SLEEPINGJOHN

CHAPTER 17: BALLS ARE FUN

There were way too many people at the Policeman's Ball for Sherlocks liking. John, of course, shone as he always did around people but Sherlock was mindlessly bored in five minutes.

He wandered off to find someone half way intellectual to converse with and John stayed to talk to Sally Donavan, who had come in a lovely burgundy frock, and her date, which Sherlock was happy to announce was a rent boy so Sally could not even salvage the night with sex. Sally almost threw her drink on Sherlock but John smoothed the waters and was soon having an actually good conversation with both Sally AND the rent boy.

Across the crowd Sherlock was easy to spot, being so tall and fucking gorgeous. John kept him in his peripherals in case he needed to rescue him but he actually seemed to be having a drink of red wine and a nice chat.

When John saw who it was he understood. Jack Cho, the numbers guy, brilliant mathematician and statistician, was be bending Sherlocks ear and of course, Sherlock was keeping up.

"...and I gotta tell you, it is not much fun being trapped in a Hotel room with that many goats." Sally's date Steve was saying.

"How many goats would have been acceptable?" John quipped and they all laughed. 

"What do you think of this bomber coming back then?" Sally asked. Lestrades team had been informed that tonight may not be all fun and games. In fact John saw Lestrade and Mycroft scan the room with their watchful eyes as Sally asked that question.

"I think he would be mad to try it." John said. "But it IS Moriarty we are talking about."

Then, as John looked over at Sherlock again, he nearly dropped his drink.

Sherlock subtly dipped one of his long fingers into his red wine and then brought it out, dripping slightly. When he saw John looking he delicately and deliberately licked and sucked the wine from his hand.

John swallowed and looked away, back to Sally and Steve. He managed to go five whole minutes before looking back at Sherlock....who was once again sucking a bit of wine off the end of his finger. He took his time, really hollowed out his cheeks, made sure to get Every.Fucking.Drop....

John breathed out and gulped his drink.

"Another?" Sally offered and John nodded mutely.

"Tall dark and freaky got you hot and bothered?" Steve commented as Sally went to get them more drinks.

"Um...yeah."

"He your boyfriend?"

"Uh huh."

"Pfff, you lucky fucker. He is gorgeous."

"So am I." John shrugged. 

He dared a glance back at Sherlock and, so fast he was unsure he had actually seen it, Sherlock ran a thumb down the length of his own cock, bound so prettily in velvet, and then sucked that same thumb slowly. John was sure he caught a flash of tongue.

"If you will excuse me." John said, and hurried off. He grabbed Sherlock by the upper arm and hissed "Come on you whore, I promised you a seeing to."

John turned to Jack.

"If you will excuse us." he said, and dragged Sherlock out of the room. 

Scrambling down a long hallway, trying locked door after locked door, he finally found a private alcove with chairs and a small table. He pulled the heavy red floor length curtain shut. It became very cosy and very intimate straight away.

He slammed Sherlock into the wall and kissed him violently.

Sherlock responded by sinking his claws into Johns head and gripping him tight, giving as good as he got. It was a nasty kiss, a kiss of ownership and possession,and it was awesome. 

They rutted against each other, velvet on cotton, shivering and trembling with need.

The sounds they made were animalistic, in harmony with how base they each felt. It had been almost too much in the limousine ride. And Sherlock teasing John like that with his wine soaked fingers and his filthy mouth... 

John tore open Sherlocks shirt, sending buttons flying. He didn't care, Sherlock would have to deal with that as punishment for driving him nuts. Play with fire get burned. Or in this case, get your nipples ravaged purple.

Sherlock by now was insensible with pain and lust. He took what John had to give him and he did so gladly. His chest became scratched, his neck bitten, his lips bruised and he loved all of it, everything.

Finally with a growl John spun Sherlock round, slammed him face first over the table and tore at the front of Sherlocks velvet trousers. He managed to get them undone without damage and slid them halfway down Sherlocks thighs. No underwear. John groaned. That whole time rutting himself in the limmo and he had had no underwear on....

John unzipped his own trousers and pulled out his iron hard cock.

Using spit and his own precome, John plunged one of his fingers deep inside Sherlocks puckering hole. Sherlock hissed and pushed back, bowing his head and gripping the edge of the table. He fucked back on Johns finger so John slid another one in, holding Sherlocks shoulder with the other hand, pulling him back with it just as much as Sherlock pushed.

Before John could even slick another finger in Sherlock begged.

"John, your cock, inside me, please."

John growled and tucked in behind Sherlock.

Despite no lube and only precome John found it relatively easy to breach Sherlock. His cock sank inside Sherlocks hot slickness with a sense of belonging. Sherlock arched his back and moaned quietly, pushing his arse back along Johns cock. John watched himself disappear inside Sherlock and he froze. Shit, he was on the verge already.

"Ah Sherlock, you dirty fuck, I am sooo close!" John hissed and Sherlock whimpered. His new found love of dirty John went straight to his balls and he could not help but find his cock and stroke it.

Johns vision closed and he just....took Sherlock right then. 

Fucked into him hard, not caring if he hurt him, just wanting to make him feel how much John wanted him. He rammed his cock, plunged into Sherlocks hotness, rolled his hips and rode him.

Sure enough by the third nasty hard violent thrust Sherlock was calling his name just as John had warned him in the limousine. Sherlock came, ropey white splatters falling over the table in front of him. The quivering spasms of his colon brought John to orgasm so quickly he forgot to breathe. He choked out something like "-'loch..." and abandoned himself to the devine pleasure of coming inside Sherlock Holmes.

When they recovered and cleaned up as much as they could, Sherlock floomphed into the chair and John curled on his lap.

No words needed to be said. It was a perfect silence.

Broken by a harsh Irish lilt.

"Hello love birds. Have you been having fun at my party?"

#


	18. HOT FOR FURY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everybody wants a bit of Fury, he is HAWT!

SLEEPINGJOHN

CHAPTER 18: HOT FOR FURY

John erupted from Sherlocks lap to stand huge in front of him like a human shield. Sherlock attempted to stand too, but John waved him down. He sat back, and tidied his shirt, buttoning up his jacket to cover the glaring buttonless parts.

"Well that was FUN!" Moriarty said, hands in the pocket of his beautiful suit. "You two are just ssssooooo durrrrrrty!"

John stepped forward, his hand automatically going to his non existent gun. Sherlock had refused him permission to bring it. He surmised that enough people would be packing in the ballroom tonight, one less gun would be okay.

"Uh uh Jon-Jon." Moriarty shook his head. 

The curtain moved aside behind the consulting criminal and Sebastian Moran, inscrutable with his scarred face and lovely tuxedo, slid in, handgun held with two hands, aiming straight between Johns eyes.

Johns whole demeanour changed. He crouched a little into fighting stance, face a mask. His fists clenched by his side ready to attack.

"John, good!" Moriarty said. "You look like you could rip me apart! It's adooooooorable!"

"Fury, please, calm down" Sherlock whispered behind John. 

"I know who you are!" Fury spat. "You put bombs on TheBody."

"You John, I put bombs all over YOU." Moriarty said, as of speaking to a stupid child.

"Best not upset him Jim" Sherlock commented from behind Furys back.

"What will he do, pee on my leg?" Moriarty raised his head to peer up at Sherlock. Fury once again motioned Sherlock down and Moriartys eyes widened when Sherlock dropped back to the seat. 

Sebastian moon-walked closer to Fury, deadly eyes never leaving Furys face. 

Fury cast his flinty eyes to Sebastian and Sebastian realised he was looking at a hunter. Weirdly, it did not seem like Dr Watson. John was badass, of course, but this guy....was cold and beyond badass.

Sebastian's spider senses were tingling but he could not say anything to Jim without taking his concentration from John, and that seem suicidal.

"What do you want Jim, I thought you had retired." Sherlock said from behind Fury.

"Two things Sherlock. Two tiiiiiiiny things." Jim said, bouncing on his toes. "I want all of Scotland Yard to burn of course, building and people."

"Won't happen." Sherlock said.

"And two, I want to know why you are happy hiding behind your dog." Jim seemed genuinely confused, as well he should be. "Hey Rexy, want another bone? You just gave yours to Sherlock."

When Moriarty winked things happened in slow motion. 

Fury kicked back his foot, causing the chair with Sherlock on it to fall back, giving Sherlock some small semblance of protection against the bullet that Sebastian sent where Fury had been mere seconds before. 

The ballistic hit the wall behind where Furys head had only JUST been. 

By then Fury had spun to the table, grabbed the shiny letter opener which was sitting to the right of the come covered blotter, continued his spin, ducked to confuse both Seb and Jim, grabbed Moriartys wrist in his hand, twisted the consulting criminals arm up behind his back, slipped behind the diminutive Irishman, and pressed the letter opener to Moriartys exposed jugular.

Seb was momentarily disorientated, and was mere nano seconds too slow in tracking Furys progress. Now, with his boss in mortal danger, Seb cursed himself for not trusting his instincts and shooting John Watson when he had the chance two seconds and a lifetime ago.

"Oh John, you are sooooo sexy!" Moriarty said, swaying as Fury lent on his back.

Seb remained calm, edging to where Sherlock had fallen, but keeping his gun trained on Fury. 

Seb kicked the chair away only to be greeted with Sherlock raising like a ghost in the swamp. 

An armed ghost. 

In his hands was Johns service revolver which he had thoughtfully pocketed inside his velvet jacket and brought with him tonight, despite banning John. Fury saw of course, and slitted his eyes.

Seb paused, then let the gun go limp in his fingers, raising his hands.

"Drop it." Sherlock ordered, and Seb did so. Sherlock kicked the gun away, keeping his eyes on Seb. "Fury, you good?"

"Aye." Fury growled and Moriarty shivered.

"Ohhhh, Fury is it?" he asked and jerked his head back as Fury dug the point of the letter opener in his artery. "Easy...big boy, You might hurt me."

"That would be a fucking shame now wouldn't it?"

Moriarty purred.

"Oh you are soooo sexy!"

"Boss?" Seb queried, and Sherlock took his momentarily jealousy as an opening to pistol whip the soldier to the ground. Seb dropped like a stone and Sherlock have him another one, just to make sure he stayed down.

Fury laughed in glee.

"Good one Sherlock!" he giggled, and Sherlock frowned, a bit disconcerted. 

Moriarty groaned and closed his eyes.

"I think you just made me come in my pants Fury" he whispered and Fury hissed.

"Shut the fuck up you Paddy prick!"

"Mmm, talk filthy to me. I loooooove it."

Sherlock passed Fury Johns gun. He cocked it at Moriartys head, pocketing the letter opener. 

"On your knees." Fury said, jabbing the barrel into Jim's skull. Jim felt a tremor go through him and he fell to his knees.

"Oh God Fury....yes, on my knees." he sighed, keeping his hands out, giving himself to this delicious creature.

"Fucking pervert!"

Sherlock by now had got out his phone and txt Lestrade. When he heard the exchange between Jim and Fury he frowned. 

"Sherlock how wonderful it must be to have this pocket rocket in your bed." Jim said then, smiling slimily at the Detective.

"Shut it!" Fury spat.

The curtain flew back and Lestrade came in, gun drawn. Behind him came Donovan, Dimock and Anderson, and various police personal, all similarly armed. It was a policemans ball after all.

Donovan and Dimock cuffed the unconscious Seb and Lestrade and Anderson approached the master criminal.

Anderson had the most amazed look on his face as he stared at John.

"John?" Lestrade asked then.

Sherlock shook his head.

"Fury." he explained.

"Fury, step down." Lestrade said. Fury reluctantly clocked the safety on, moved the barrel off Jims head, and stepped back. 

Lestrade holstered his gun and pulled Moriartys hands down to cuff them.

Jim looked at Fury as he was rendered incapacitated. 

As Lestrade dragged him to his feet he winked at Fury.

"I will see you later Firecracker." he purred, and laughed as he was roughly manhandled by Sally and some constables out of the alcove, followed by Sebs unconscious body, carried none-to-gently by Dimock and some other grunts.

"You be right for a statement tonight?" Greg asked Sherlock. He nodded. Lestrade nodded back, took up Sebs gun, and left. 

"Anderson!!" he yelled as the curtain swished shut.

"Doctor Watson." Anderson smiled his big horsey white glow under a black light teeth at Fury. "Would you consider....having a drink with me one night?"

This was too much for Sherlock.

He crossed the room in two strides and decked Anderson with a satisfactory meaty crunch.

#


	19. ANGRY DINOSAUR

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Never turn your back on a cross, sexually frustrated dinosaur. They can get all het up.

SLEEPINGJOHN

CHAPTER 19: ANGRY DINOSAUR

Anderson left Lestrades office nursing a split lip. He glared at John and Sherlock who were waiting to give their statements next.

"Freaks." he spat.

"Okay, what happened to Anderson's lip?" John asked. "Did Fury do that? Will I have to watch my back for dinosaur attacks?"

They both giggled like idiots, but then Sherlock confessed "No, it was me."

"Good for you! Erm...why?"

"He asked Fury out for a drink."

"ANDERSON?"

"He likes the BOY dinosaurs."

They snickered again.

"So Moriarty AND Anderson came onto Fury?"

"I'm afraid so."

John paused, thinking and nodding. Then he grinned at Sherlock.

"Oh yeah, I still got it..."

"Watson, Holmes, in here now!" came the dulcet tones of Detective Inspector Lestrade.

They seated themselves in front of Gregs desk. 

"I am not going to put you on report for decking Anderson." Lestrade started off with. "I will say though, Holmes, don't do it again..." and Lestrade sighed.

"I can't promise anything. If he comes onto John or any of his Alters again I may just hit first and make threats later." Sherlock dead panned. John smiled widely at Lestrade.

"Ain't he cute?" he said, proudly.

"Yeah, he's a real peach. Moving on. I understand it was Fury who did the work and not you John so in your statement I will use the name John. It will save you having to explain your mental status to all and sundry."

"Thanks Greg, I appreciate that."

It took 15 minutes to get the statement then they were free to go.

"I remember a certain streaky Consulting Detective telling me not to bring my gun to the ball." John said as they strode from New Scotland Yard, the slitty eyes of Anderson following them.

"Yes, your point?"

"How did my Browning end up at the scene Sherlock?"

"Magic pixies?" Sherlock said, waving down a cab. "I brought it John."

"Yes, but why?"

"In case Fury turned up and shot someone." Sherlock said, opening the cabs door. "It would have been hard to explain that yes, 'John shot someone but Officer it was not really John, it was one of the many personalities residing in the good Doctors body'. We are not that enlightened as a society yet John."

They slid into the cab and have the Baker Street address.

"So....thank you?"

"You are welcome Doctor."

"And any time you want to give me my gun back would be fine with me."

"When we get back to the flat."

"Why Sherlock Holmes, is that a pistol in your pants or just your hot distracting cock?"

"Both...."

#

Later that night they got the news that Moriarty had escaped custody with the creative use of a drill, a wad of blu-tac, and some ordinary household bleach.

#


	20. I HURT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is what happened in Afghanistan.
> 
> It's awful.
> 
> Take heed of the warnings

SLEEPINGJOHN

CHAPTER 20: I HURT

John took his laptop to his room. 

It was late. 

Sherlock and he had tired themselves out showering, and the fucking in the shower, and then washing themselves again. It was lovely to curl into Sherlock, in Sherlocks bed, all melty.

But at some stage during the night John woke up with the need to see the video. The one where Fury explains about Afghanistan. 

So he snuck down to the lounge room, grabbed his lap top, and tiptoed to his room. Sherlock had rather arrogantly assumed that because he told John NOT to watch said video there was no need to hide the thumb drive that said "Alters, session 1" on it.

John settled on his bed, against the headboard, started up his machine, put the thumb drive in the port, and settled back to watch.

#

TRANSCRIPT SESSION ONE

FURY AND SLEEPING JOHN 

AFGHANISTAN

~rustlings, camera refocuses on Johns face.~

S- TheFuryandtheFear, can you tell me about Afghanistan?

F- Yeah, but it ain't pretty

(John sighed, really, that was Fury? He seemed so....rough. Not like him at all. So completely different!)

S- How did it start?

F- John is sleeping in the tent. His mate William is there too. Billy. Cans they call him. Billy Cans. John and Cans had been on a sortie for 28 hours straight. No sleep. They were exhausted, well asleep, before Major Newell came in.

S- Who is Major Newell?

~shifting in the chair, uncomfortable look on Furys face~

F- Major Newell is Foobar

S-Foobar?  
F-Vietnam war saying. Fucked up beyond all reason. Bomb shy. Traumatically Stressed.

S-I understand. Please continue

~shifting in seat~

F-Cans is screaming. Like, really screaming. High pitched and petrified. 

~more shifting. Eyes close, then open again. SleepingJohn has arrived~

SJ- I hear him. The screaming is worse than when that civilian mother lost both her babies...I was sleeping but I am torn awake....I am awake now, but confused. I look over to where the screaming is coming from....

~hands up to protect his face~

SJ- (terrified whisper) I don't want to see, I want to go back to sleep....

~tears his hands from his eyes. Shifts back to Fury~

F- I get up. I have to help Cans

S-what is happening to Cans?

~major shifting in the chair. Teeth clench~

F- I can't....do this....

S-(soft deep voice) Remember, don't relive

F- Major Newell is on top of Cans. Billy is fighting him off. Major Newell is not here in this war, but in the first one. The first sand war. He is screaming at Cans in Farsi...

~breathing becomes rapid~

F- Major Newell has his gherka knife. It was his grandfathers from the war in Egypt. He is...he has it...it shines, it is moving so fast....I get my sidearm....

~choking sound~

F- Major, drop your weapon!

~points imaginary gun~

F- Major Newell, stand down!

~seconds tick by~

F- the major lashes at me, cuts me across the belly because I forget to protect myself. I see what he has done and i have done the stupid...I leave my belly open...and I cannot...

~choking sound~

F- I clutch at myself, here

~points to his stomach~

F- Cans has stopped his screaming but his face is still screaming, screaming at me. I catch the football Major Newell tosses to me

~mimes catching something close against him. Sits up, begins to rock and hold his stomach. SleepingJohn is back~

SJ- The MPs arrive when I do. SleepingJohn and the MPs arrive at exactly the same time. I am trying to hold myself in, my belly, I am rocking, rocking Cans to sleep, he needs to sleep, he needs...

~sobbing~

SJ- he needs...

~sobbing~

SJ- ~whispers~ Billy....

~sobbing~

S- (softly) what happened to Billy SleepingJohn

~sobbing, rocking~

SJ- They are dragging The Major away. He is disarmed. The doc cannot help Billy cos I am SleepingJohn, not the Medic, SleepingJohn. Captain Ross sees what happened to Cans. He vomits....he vomits so hard and he is swearing and crying 

~dry heaves, rocks~

SJ- hands are grabbing me. Nice hands. My mates. Saying 'Doc, give me his head Doc, we need his head. We need to help you."

~rocking~

SJ- Major Newel decapitated him. Decapitated Billy right in front of me. 

~sobbing, rocking, keening~

SJ- I got you I got you I got you

S- Jesus Christ

(Video goes black)

#  
Captain John Watson is not here right now.

Captain John Watson has checked out

#


	21. THE FENS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock makes out with Hamish.

SLEEPINGJOHN

CHAPTER 21: THE FENS

"John! Jesus, fuck, JOHN!"

Sherlock rushed to Johns side. John was staring out at nothing, face a clay mask, eyes devoid of any life.

"John...." Sherlock gently closed the laptop and moved it off Johns legs. He sat beside him on the bed. "John, can you hear me? It's Sherlock. Love, please speak to me...."

Sherlock brushed at Johns fringe, kissed his forehead.

"Oh fuck John" he whispered brokenly. Tears welled in his eyes and he was lost, unsure what to do. "John I am so sorry, I should have hidden it better, I should have burned it, I should have listened to Hamish. John...please...."

He fell onto Johns lap, arms around the doctors waist. He sobbed quietly, keeping hysterics at bay.

He began to think of options.

Mycroft, A&E, psychiatric help, but, just as he was on the verge of panic, a hand gripped his hair and used it to yank his head back. Stony blue eyes stared down at Sherlock.

"What did I tell you???" 

"uh...Hamish?"

"YES Hamish you little turd. I told you not to let him remember! One little thing! Don't let him see the film!"

"I...miscalculated."

"That's putting it fucking mildly!" 

Hamish pushed Sherlock from him and stood in a smooth move. Sherlock rubbed his head and stood too. 

Hamish was staring at Sherlock with his signature posture, arm across his stomach, other arm in a T, flicking his fingers, thinking.

"Can you...hear John?"

"Yes."

"Is he alright?"

Hamish looked disappointed in Sherlock.

"No, Sherlock, he most assuredly is not alright." 

Sherlock could not help the tears he felt on his face.

"Fuck fuck stupid stupid stupid!"

"No argument from me."

"What do I do?" 

Hamish laughed a bitter laugh.

"Sorry, but Sherlock, you don't think you are alone in this do you?"

Sherlock rubbed his neck, staring under his fringe at Hamish.

"Oh Sherlock, call yourself a proper genius?" Hamish scoffed. "Johns checked out, but the Alters are all here. Are you really that arrogant? I told you, I created the Alters to help John. John is not here right now so the Alters need to step up. Right now, I am in charge of TheBody. And I know what we have to do."

"Anything,I'll do anything." Sherlock promised.

Hamish took pity on Sherlock,

"I know you will. This caring thing is new to you. You are allowed to make mistakes." he smiled a small smile at Sherlock. Sherlock nodded.

"So...what do WE do?"

"Hire a car. We are going on a holiday."

"But, the work, Johns clinic.."

Hamish looked all Obi Wan at Sherlock and Sherlock shut up.

"Hire a car, yes, okay." he nodded. "Where are we going?"

"A little village called The Fens."

"Okay...is this an important place to John?"

Hamish smiled again.

"Apart from by your side Sherlock, The Fens is the most important place John has ever been."

#

The Fens was glorious. Green, leafy, flowery with thatched roofs and whitewashed walls. It was small and the 4WD Sherlock had hired took up most of the lane coming into the village.

Hamish had been quiet the whole trip, only really giving Sherlock instructions. Hamish couldn't drive, he had never learned to. None of the other Alters either wanted to drive or could drive either, so Sherlock was the only one left.

He was glad of the silence in a way. He could think. 

Hamish was also thinking. 

This was a bit strange to Sherlock. He knew this Alter was clever but he still had Johns face, and John liked to chat on long road trips. Hamish was like a Sherlock in a John suit. It was a curious situation.

The B&B Hamish made Sherlock book them into was very pretty. Centuries old, it had a gorgeous view of the actual Fens and the historic Tors. Their room was up in the attic, all blonde wood and quilted and warm.

Sherlock itched to get on Google and research the area but Hamish had banned him. This was a learning trip, he told Sherlock, Google would have too much information. Hamish and the Alters and Sherlock had stuff to do here. Sherlock was intrigued of course but his need to know NOW was very strong.

"Do this for John." was all Hamish had to say for Sherlock to pull his head in a bit.

They unpacked and dressed warm. The wind was freezing here, and it was not even Winter yet. After a quick cup of tea, Hamish took Sherlock walking on the fens.

The day was overcast and brisk. Sherlock hated walking at the best of times, he would rather run after criminals if exercise was needed. But Hamish was leading on silently and Hamish was in charge right now. So Sherlock followed, keeping his opinions to himself.

The climb to the top of the Tor was tedious at best. Hamish even patronisingly held his hand over the rougher bits. Sherlock would have protested but Hamishs' hand felt nice in his, like Johns.

When they got the top Hamish was happy to look to the horizon. Sherlock flopped to the ground, letting the wind blow around him in little spurts.

It was really quiet. All naturey. 

It was hateful.

Hamish finally sat down next to Sherlock. He pulled a wildflower from the ground and slid it into Sherlocks magnificent hair. Sherlock smiled indulgently at him. The wind would most likely blow it out before he got back where people were.

"Why are we here?" Sherlock finally asked Hamish.

"I am really proud of you." Hamish countered.

"Why?"

"You seriously did not google."

"You asked me not to."

"Thank you." Hamish smiled at Sherlock and Sherlocks heart went thripitty. It caught him by surprise. Hamish looked a lot like John but less stressed, more in control, and certainly would have posted a higher IQ than John. It was his mannerisms. 

Sherlock liked the uncontrolled part of John though, the bursting humour, the rants, the sudden spontaneity which he suspected Hamish just did not have.

But he was sexy as fuck.

"So...why ARE we here?"

"Johns stomping ground." Hamish indicated the fens.

"He lived here?"

"In a house a few streets away from our B&B"

"He told me he was brought up in-"

"He lied." Hamish interrupted.

"Ah." Sherlock nodded. 

"So this is where it started?"

"Right here."

"Are you...okay?"

"Yes. I am in control, I am the Big Boss one, remember?" Hamish said. "John is not happy though."

"I imagine not." Sherlock said. "Why did we bring him here?"

"Closure."

"Ah."

They sat in silence again, staring out across the waving fens. A fox leaped up and down, hunting a mouse. Birds circled and cawwed. Trees undulated and shook their leaves.

"It's....pretty here." Sherlock ventured. Hamish turned to him.

"Hard to believe there was so much terror and pain here."

"Don't" Sherlock whispered. "Please."

"Why?"

"I hate to think of John here...what happened to him."

"There was good times too. Harry and he used to run wild around here. Picking berries and apples, chasing foxes, imagining who was buried in the Tor, and what mighty treasures they had on them. They played pirates in those trees." Hamish waved to the grove a mile away.

Sherlock gave a small grunt.

Hamish put his cold hand on Sherlocks cheek and turned the detective to face him. Searchingly deep blue eyes met his and Sherlock wanted to kiss Hamish more than anything else right then. Hamish must have seen it because he leaned in, fluttered his eyes closed, and scooped Sherlocks lips into his own.

The kiss was instantly spectacular. Smelling and feeling of John but with a subtle difference. John was his equal. Flirt was fluttery and when it boiled down to it, probably submissive. But Hamish was quickly dominating the kiss and as a consequence, dominating Sherlock.

Hamish pushed his tongue gently into Sherlocks mouth and Sherlock had never experienced anything more erotic. He moaned and his heart thumped in his neck, almost painfully. Hamishs' hand moved to take Sherlocks chin in the very tips of his fingers, turning Sherlocks head more so their tongues could dance. Then Hamish swept that same hand up into Sherlocks hair and fisted the follicles gently.

It was all Sherlock could do to stop falling to the feet of this sensuous man and beg. How fascinating and wonderful it felt! So different from anything he had ever experienced. He felt himself lean in to Hamishs mouth, tacitly asking for more, all he could take, pain, pleasure, everything. 

Hamish deepened the kiss with a lovely sigh in through his nose. Sherlock liked that he did that to Hamish, made him sigh. And that tongue, it was maddening. He pictured it teasing his nipples and he moaned with the heat of it. To have it lapping at his cock would be too devine for words! He moaned again, helplessly.

Hamish pulled gently back, sucking Sherlocks tongue obscenely as he did so. His eyes slowly opened and he met Sherlocks.

"I want to fuck you Sherlock, so very much." he murmured and Sherlock nodded, eyes wide. "Face to face so I can watch you as I take you." Sherlock nodded again, as if hypnotised. "Slowly and sensuously until you are too senseless to even beg for it."

"Please...." Sherlock said in a tiny voice.

"Kiss me."

The kiss was just as hot and languid and filled with dirty promise as the first one.

Sherlock was going to find it hard to walk back, pun intended.

#


	22. GIVING HIMSELF TO HAMISH

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hamish takes Sherlock apart with loving fireside sex.

SLEEPINGJOHN

CHAPTER 22: GIVING HIMSELF TO HAMISH

They dined that night with the host family of the B&B. 

Sherlock watched Hamish charm the pants, almost literally, off the husband, wife and two almost adult children. It was the most fun he had ever had eating. 

Hamish had funny stories (from Johns time at Uni) and amusing anecdotes about the things Sherlock and 'he' had done(going somewhere important in a sheet, being loved up by a naked cat that smelled of disinfectant) and then he also actively listened, eyes twinkling and laughing at the right spots, teasing, asking questions.

Sherlock basked in Hamishs' glow as much as the family did.

After a lovely dessert and a single glass of some deliciously sweet brandy, they retired to their room. Sherlock heard the husband and wife say:

"Not bad fer a pair o' puffs. Right good 'uns they be."

"O 'ush Henry, and go do the dishes!"

When at last they got their room Hamish divested himself of his coat and, in just his jeans and tight white T-shirt, expertly knelt and built a fire that warmed the room in minutes and made everything flicker. 

No other light was needed. 

Sherlock slipped out of his jacket and, on sudden inspiration, crawled to where Hamish was kneeling and lay his head down in the Alters lap. Arranging his face prettily, he stared up at Hamish, silently asking....

Hamish had two fingers pensive on his lips. When Sherlock ensconced himself in place Hamish could not help but smile under his fingers. He moved that hand down to stroke his hands through Sherlocks beautiful hair, made gorgeous by the firelight picking out the lighter strands and making them glow a deep rose gold. 

Hamish then used his thumb to stroke one of Sherlocks eyebrows, and eye lid, and then one of those gorgeous cheekbones. Sherlock closed his eyes into the touch and Hamish sighed.

"So pretty." 

"Pretty, Hamish?" Sherlocks baritone rumbled, eyes languidly opening again.

"Pretty." Hamish said again and Sherlock could see in his fire-glowing eyes that 'pretty' meant everything good. So he smiled. Okay, pretty, that works.

Hamish watched his own hand as he slid it down Sherlocks shoulder, under the shirt. He spent time just stroking the skin there. Soft, and warm from the fire. He found one of Sherlocks nipples and ran the palm of his hand over it. Sherlock breathed in, closed his eyes and wiggled a little bit.

Hamish spent some time on that one nipple. Watching Sherlocks face as he reacted to different pressure, rolling, stroking, pinching-oh the little pain slut LOVED the pinching. He then slid and paid similar attention to the other nipple. Sherlocks breathing changed, it got shallower and faster. His hands gripped at the rug by the fire and at one point he gasped, and arched, and his eyes flew open to look with such need into Hamish that all teasing stopped.

Hamish slid out from under Sherlock, straddled his hips, and pinned his wrists.

"..yes..." Sherlock said and writhed a little, settling himself under Hamish. 

"Give me your mouth." Hamish demanded quietly. Sherlock immediately lifted his head, and parted his lips, eyes closed, waiting, thrumming.

Again, when Hamish kissed him he scooped Sherlocks lips in his own, encapturing his whole mouth and making it his own straight away. Feeling Hamishs' hot mouth, heavy body and strong grip sent Sherlock to places he did not know he had. Submissive places. Giving places. Places he liked to put people, not be put himself. But with Hamish it was so right he didn't even question it.

Hamish paid particular attention to Sherlocks luscious lips. Sucking on them gently, nipping at them, licking them, and then forcing his whole mouth on them. Sherlock wiggled and arched in glee, moaning with each different sensation.

Then Hamish brought his beautiful tongue in to play.

It curled its way into Sherlocks mouth like the unfurling of a flower, and then made its presence known by being everywhere. Hamish moved his jaw in time with his tongue and Sherlock realised that Hamish was LICKING inside his mouth. The feeling was incredibly filthy. So good!

Hamish was making lovely groany noises deep in his throat and Sherlock responded with deep noises of his own. He flexed his wrists but really didn't want Hamish to let him go. Hamish didn't of course.

Sherlock threw his head back, inviting Hamish to explore his neck and throat. Hamish did just that with his magnificent tongue and his hot mouth. 

"Gorgeous." Hamish whispered into Sherlocks pulse and Sherlock shivered. Hamish trailed some kisses down along Sherlocks shoulders, his collarbone, the delicate hollow in his throat. He put both Sherlocks wrist under one hand and undid the rest of Sherlocks crisp white shirt. Parting the cloth and revealing Sherlocks chest and stomach was like unwrapping a tasty Christmas gift.

"Mmmmm, so nice." Hamish purred and spent some time gently licking, biting and sucking all the lovely warm soft furry parts of Sherlocks torso. 

When Hamish slid his hand up Sherlocks inner thigh Sherlock gasped. It had not been expected. And when Hamish cupped the hard centre of Sherlock he moaned through lips that snapped shut in case he screamed.

Hamish dipped his head and spent time mouthing the skin at the lower end of Sherlocks abdomen, under his navel. 

"....oh..." Sherlock gasped, and then Hamish began to rub his cock through his trousers. He kept kissing lower and rubbing harder and Sherlock arched. ...."oh, Hamish.."

Hamish let Sherlocks other wrist go and moved I between Sherlocks thighs. Sherlock kept his wrists where they were, more from lack of muscle control than obedience. When Hamish unzipped and unbuttoned Sherlocks trousers Sherlock lifted his hip to push his cock up. 

Hamish quickly slid the trousers and Sherlocks pants down off his legs. Sherlock stretched himself up, all length and skin, and Hamish licked at the very tip of Sherlocks cock. Sherlock deflated his spine and moaned, toes curling.

".....Hamish......"

Hamish took his cock deeply and slowly, swirling his tongue and scraping his teeth very gently down the fluid filled tissue.

"God....Hamish...."

Hamish sucked Sherlock hard enough to hollow his cheeks, lovely long pulls with that murderously delicious tongue swirling all over his cock, rendering Sherlock speechless.

Hamish undid his own jeans and pushed them down enough to get out his own hard cock. From inside his jeans pocket he slid out a sachet of lubricant. He tore it open, squeezed it on his hand and slicked his cock.

He slid a quilted cushion under Sherlocks arse, lifting his hips. Sherlocks thighs parted automatically and Hamish smiled. 

Sherlock was slightly shocked when Hamishs' lube moistened hand rubbed against his arsehole, but he quivered and moaned as Hamish worked the lube in.

Then Hamish slid up the length of Sherlocks body, pressed the blunt top of his cock against Sherlocks hole, then, leaving it there, dipped his head and took control of Sherlocks mouth again.

Sherlocks moan was dirty, filled with longing. His stomach hollowed with lust, emptied his belly ready to be filled with whatever Hamish would give him.

Hamish gently lifted Sherlocks legs up to hook over his impressive biceps. Sherlock felt open and covered at the same time, and that tongue was so distracting.

"....oh....inside me....please..."

Hamish rolled his hips, sliding his cock forward into Sherlocks tight hole. Sherlock sucked his breath in through his nose, moaning into Hamishs' mouth as Hamish slid in, slowly, deeply, so silky.

When he hit the end of his length he stopped. Sherlock shivered, his hole fluttering and pulsing against Hamish as his tissues adjusted. They didn't break their loving deep kiss, kept their tongues dancing. Sherlock lifted his arms and clutched at Hamishs arse, digging his fingers in.

"Ready, Sherlock?" Hamish murmured into his mouth and Sherlock nodded, quickly. "Look at me, love."

Sherlock opened his eyes and when Hamish began to move he choked a gasp and jerked his upper body twice, abdomen flexing.

"....oh...."

"....Sherlock...."

Hamish moved slowly, undulating like lazy waves on a tropical beach. Small movements filled with love and care and it was taking Sherlock apart more affectively than a hard, rough shag against a wall.

They kissed again, mouths working hotly against each other. Sherlock knew he was making sounds, dirty sounds of abandon, and he loved that he felt safe enough that he could. Hamish matched his moans with ones of his own.

Soon Hamish moved faster, deeper. And then he angled his hips so the ridge of his hard slick cock head caught the walnut of Sherlocks' prostate with every forward thrust. The kissing was hard to keep up with now, he couldn't concentrate, the build up of pleasure in his arse was distracting him. 

Hamish hissed in and then really began to move, snapping up with every thrust, keeping the head of his cock near to Sherlocks sweet spot, breathing harshly into Sherlocks neck.

"....God, Sherlock...."

"....Hamish!"

"....so close...."

"....me too, oh you are lovely...."

With a sharp intake of breath Sherlock was coming, spilling over his belly and onto Hamishs' shirt. He tried not to scream but his voice did not obey. He cried out once, twice, then a third time with every hard pulse of his cock. 

In another second Hamish tensed up and he too came, pouring into Sherlock on long pulses, calling out Sherlocks name into the sweet skin of his throat.

"....Sherlock, my Sherlock, my Sherlock...."

#


	23. ROBIN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The other worse thing that happened to John Watson.
> 
> Very ik.

SLEEPINGJOHN

CHAPTER 23: ROBIN

During the night Sherlock woke up to feel the bed rocking. He had been hugging Hamish when he dropped off to sleep but now SleepingJohn was back.

"SleepingJohn, are you okay?" Sherlock asked sleepily.

"Knife is under the pillow."

"Okay." Sherlock took that as a yes. He slid his hand under the pillow and there was indeed a knife. Just a small on but it felt cold and shiny. He slid his hand back out. SleepingJohn needed the knife to protect TheBody.

"He says you have to take Robin to the house tomorrow." 

Sherlock felt a tad warm. "He" was Hamish, who had taken him deeply and lovingly on the rug in front of the fire.

Wait...

"Who is Robin?"

SleepingJohn rocked, hugging himself. Sherlock didn't really like SleepingJohns position knowing what it depicted but he was in no way going to demand this damaged Alter change his ways.

"He says....Robin is coming."

SleepingJohn melted down into the mattress and closed his eyes. A second later Johns eyes opened. They blinked.

"Hello!"

Oh this voice was adorable. Sweet and child like.

"Hi. I'm Sherlock."

"UnderJohn says you are real nice. I'm Robin. I'm ten." Robin held his hands up like starfish, showing in fingers how old he was.

Sherlock was a bit stunned. Ten was very young!

"Pleased to meet you Robin." was all he could think to say. How many more Alters was there? Why didn't Hamish tell him?

Robin curled up on his side and stared at Sherlock with his big eyes, fringe in his face.

"I like pirates and aliens and tractors." he announced.

"Who doesn't." Sherlock smiled. "How long have you been living with UnderJohn?"

"I am not sure. A long time. I keep TheBody small...um....oh UnderJohn used a big word...Milicent!"

"Innocent?"

"I keep TheBody innocent." Robin nodded. "I am called Robin cos I am Little John...geddit?" Robin laughed and snorted. Sherlock smiled.

"You have to take me to the house tomorrow." Robin said, his face all serious and urgent.

"Okay, but I don't know the way."

"UnderJohn said John will take you."

"oh..." Sherlock found his eyes stinging.

"You miss him...your John?"

Sherlock nodded. Hamish had been lovely company but nothing beat having John with him

"I do." Sherlock nodded. "You are pretty clever for a ten year old."

"I bin ten for EVER!" Robin sighed.

"Why do you have to go back to the house?"

"I have to show you where it started."

"But...You are so tiny. Will you be okay?"

"All I do is play and have fun, even at that house." Robin yawned. "Tired. Tell me a story."

"I don't know any stories."

"Sure you do." Robin said, snuggling into Sherlocks shoulder.

"I could tell you a story about a blind banker..."

"That sounds awesome."

Sherlock smiled and began.

"My friend Sebastian Wilkes called me one day...."

#

In the morning John is sitting at the kitchen table.

"I made tea."

"John." Sherlock breathed and fell to his knees. He hugged John around the waist and John dropped his face to the top of Sherlocks head.

"Sherlock." came Johns voice. "I missed you."

"I missed you too."

"Where are we?"

Sherlock laughed and stood, then sat in Johns lap.

"I am sorry Hamish kidnapped you. You needed to....rest."

"I remember the video Sherlock."

Sherlock squeezed him.

"I wish you didn't."

John shook his head.

"It will be okay. I survived it didn't I? Twice, if you think about it."

"John....you are really amazing."

Sherlock dropped a kiss on Johns lips that became a tasty Frenching snog. John pulled away after a minute.

"Don't distract me with your early morning ruffled beauty Sherlock Holmes." he said. "What day is it and where are we?"

"It has been a day and a bit since you saw the video...which I should have burned. Why did you watch it John?"

John stared into Sherlocks face.

"I was tired of not knowing. It's scary waking up and not knowing what I have done. So many blank spots."

"John...I am with you now. I can fill in the blank spots for you. I love you. You never need to fear my...stupid arrogant attempts to glue you back together!"

"Sherlock my love....nobody has ever loved me as fiercely and as deeply as you. I trust you with my life. With all of me. All my Alters."

Sherlock smiled, tears in his eyes.

"...but if you don't tell me where we are and what we are doing I will poison your tea."

"We are at The Fens."

John stiffened under Sherlock. 

"We are where?" he whispered hoarsely. 

"The Fens."

"Shit." John swore quietly, eyes moving restlessly. "Get off me..."

Sherlock jumped up as if burned and John made his way to the window. He leaned on it, one hand to the glass. Sherlock stayed where he was, watching.

"Oh fuck me...." came Johns small voice.

"One of your Alters needed to come here. To help you get closure." Sherlock said quietly.

"And you just fucking did what he said?"

"Yes John. I did. I was petrified. You were catatonic. "

"Hamish!" John spat

"He got us here, yes. But that's not who the closure is for."

"Tell them all to get fucked." John spat. "I am never going back to that house!"

"I cannot tell a ten year old no, you know I am hopeless with children." Sherlock whined.

"Ten year old?"

"Uh huh. New Alter. Well, old, but just popped out last night. HE is the one taking us to the house today." Sherlock stepped closer to John. "His name is Robin."

John froze completely still. His eyes flashed. Then he spun and slapped Sherlock across the face. Sherlock yelled and John got him by the collar of his pyjamas.

"Tell me you are joking!!" John hissed in anger, but he was fighting tears as well, eyes terrified and bereft at the same time.

"No, I met him last night!" Sherlock said, trying to pull away, nursing his reddening cheek. It was hard not to sock John back. Face slapping was usually a dialogue stopper but this was too terrifying and important to cape-swoosh from the room on moral grounds.

"Robin...." John choked.

"He likes Pirates and Aliens and-"

"Tractors." John finished and slumped, swaying.

"Yes. How did you know..?"

"Robin is....different..."

"Different how."

"He is of my Alters the only one based on a real person." John swayed again, and staggered to the bed, letting Sherlock go. Sherlock followed, sat next to John and held his hands.

"Who was he...?" he asked gently.

"Robin...was my twin brother."

"...oh...no...John..."

John was nodding.

"His name was actually Jack. He was 14 minutes younger than me. Everyone called him Little John cos he followed me everywhere. I called him Robin Hood because he was my hero."

"What happened to him?"

"My father accidentally killed him when we were 10. Hung him in the well and forgot him..." John burst into tears. 

"Just left him there Sherlock. For three days!" 

John sobbed as his heart broke all over again. "He died of dehydration. And I...I..was..." Johns voice choked off. He shuddered in a deep breath.

"no, fuck, no John..."

"...and I was the one who found him."

#


	24. THE BODY IN THE WELL

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fury, Robin and John take Sherlcok back to the place John shattered.

SLEEPINGJOHN

CHAPTER 24: THE BODY IN THE WELL

Holding John as he fell apart nearly did Sherlock in. 

Of all the horrors he had heard his friend go through this was the most heart stabbing awful thing he could ever imagine. To be that helpless and end up losing someone as close as an actual twin was a place Sherlock did not want to put himself. 

That would not help John.

But here, now, he could hold John up, hold him close, murmur stupid platitudes in the low voice he knew John loved, and touch him kindly. 

Sherlock knew he had the capacity to be fond of someone. His infuriating brother, Molly, Lestrade, Mrs Hudson who was not his housekeeper he was fond of them all.

But to fall in love so deeply that their pain became your own, so that you wanted to take whomever had hurt them and rend them apart with your own teeth and hands, this was a new emotion that Sherlock was both pleased and horrified to feel.

He had no idea how to reconcile the love of John with his deep seeded and murderous hatred of Da. Why wasn't that fucker still alive so Sherlock could....end him!

John was a truth he could cling to. John, here, under his hands, warm, loyal funny John. 

"I love you."

John shuddered and suddenly he was not John. He burst from Sherlocks arms with a roar, spinning, eyes looking everywhere like a trapped bird. 

"Fury, no!" Sherlock cried, but knew better than to try and physically restrain this Alter.

Fury saw the pillow and pounced on it, dragging out SleepingJohns knife.

"I'll kill him!" he snarled and, knife in his fist, made for the door.

"Fury, he is already dead!" Sherlock tried to explain, but Fury slammed the door open and was gone.

"Fuck fuck fuck..." Sherlock swore. He slipped his coat and scarf on over his pyjamas and slipped his boots on, unlaced and unsocked, and raced after his terrifying friend.

He was glad is was early morning and the family was not up yet, not even the wife to cook breakfast. This would have been terribly inconvenient to explain.

When Sherlock got to the street he saw Fury running, just turning down a tiny lane to the left. Sherlock took off after him, running as best he could with his climbing boots so loose on his feet. Still, he made good time, and managed to keep Fury in his sight for the most part, deducing his direction correctly when Fury got too far ahead.

Finally Sherlock saw Fury turn into the driveway of a tiny cottage and race down the side of it. Smoke from the chimney indicated someone was home and Sherlock dearly hoped they would understand...but wait, Fury was not knocking on the door. He raced to the back of the house and pushed into the underbrush, disappearing as the leaves closed in.

"Oh wonderful." Sherlock sighed. "Nature!"

Then he too pushed through the bushes and battled the branches until he finally saw Fury crouched in front of him. He slowed down, making noise so Fury could hear him. Fury was shaking like the leaves around them, the knife loose in his hand which was by his side, touching the scattered detritus. 

In front of them Sherlock could see the rounded bricks and wooden cover of an old well.

"oh no..." he sighed to himself.

"This is where I died." came Robins small voice.

Sherlock stepped up lightly, on the opposite side of the knife, and gently touched the boys hair.

"The well." he said and Robin nodded, not looking at him but at the well wall.

"I am so sorry." Sherlock said. This place looked too innocuous to be the place of such horror but both Fury and Robin had told him what had gone on here.

"It's where he hung us sometimes. The well. Sometimes with rope around our wrists, or sometimes upside down by our ankles. Hours usually. He would spit and piss on us. Garbage sometimes, sometimes paper he had set on fire."

"Jesus..." Sherlock rubbed his eyes. The images were just too bright hot.

"I was hanging by my ankles when I died."

"Robin-"

"I am still here you know." Robin said then, gesturing with the knife.

"Your remains? Are they still in the well?" Sherlock asked, frowning. That couldn't be right, someone would have noticed...

Robin nodded.

"Phone phone phone.." Sherlock began patting his coat pockets. He brought out his phone. Low battery, enough for one txt. He txt Lestrade, even though this was not his area, because he knew John, and he could be trusted.

"Da named us." Robin said. "Da named us Jack and John."

Sherlock slipped his phone back and gently touched the boys shoulder. The names were very similar and in some cultures were even the same. He knew twins were often named similar names and he often wondered why. It seemed strange to give two personalities the same name..

"ah..." he said.

"So he could take turns with us." Robin went on. "Not wear one out."

Sherlock nodded, swallowing a lump in his throat.

"We had a roster."

Sherlock shivered in horror.

"Da went on a big bender on my last days. He was so drunk he could not tell us apart. Took me, not John, even though John was rostered on. He did his usual thing...my Da....but he was so drunk he forgot me."

Sherlocks bile rose and he fought to keep it down.

"In my last hours I was happy. All that blood in my head I think. I died thinking about tractors."

Sherlocks world went blurry and he knew he was crying again.

"Robin I am so sorry...."

"John stayed in the window seat. He hid there when Da was on a bender. He felt safe there. Da would eventually find him though. But after a while Da never came. So he got out. Came to look for me. I am real sorry he had to see me like that."

Sherlocks phone pinged.

LOCAL POLICE ON THIER WAY. I AM TWO HOURS OUT.-GL

"Robin, I have some police coming to get your remains out of the well." Sherlock said. "What your Da did is a crime and it has to be handled by the police, do you understand?"

Robin nodded.

"Do you want to....stay here...?"

Robin shuddered. The knife fell into the leaves with a soft thud. 

"Sherlock?"

Oh blessed Virgin Mary, it was John.

"John!" Sherlock crouched next to him.

"Where are-oh-" Johns eyes saw the brick of the well. "oh...here then.."

Sherlock took the knife and put it in his pocket then dragged John to his feet.

"Walk with me John."

Together they staggered from the underbrush. Sherlock found a tree they could sit against with a good view of the driveway to see when the police arrived. Sherlock brought his knees up, shoved his hands in his pockets. Now he had stopped running he was getting chilled. John rested his head on Sherlocks shoulder.

"You okay?" John asked him, softly.

"Am I..John...you..." Sherlock closed his eyes and leaned his head back on the tree. "Apart from wanting to decimate a ghost three ways from Sunday, or curling you up under my coat forever, I am fine."

John snickered. Actually snickered.

"Under your coat? Like a ferret?"

Sherlock sighed.

"Yes John, exactly like a ferret."

The police arrived then. Two country coppers. The older one made their way over while the younger one talked into the radio mike.

"John Watson as I live and breathe. What has this got to do with you?" the older copper said. John stared up at him.

"Constable Mackillroy, long time-"

That was as far as he got. Sherlock jumped to his feet and confronted the older policeman.

"Why didn't you stop this? Why did you not see?"

"Steady on son-"

"Sherlock, don't, nobody knew. We all kept it secret. It's not his fault!"

"He should have known, this is his village!"

"Sherlock you are the most observant man on the planet and you didn't know anything about it until I told you. Sit down and let the police do their job."

Sherlock, fuming, began to pace.

"He's not deranged is he?" Mackilroy asked John then.

"No, he's brilliant."

"I shall take your word for it. Now what's going on John. Something about your brothers remains?"

John sighed and said.

"You remember Da..."

#


	25. OCH AYE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock surprises John and John shows Sherlock he has two more special kinks.

SLEEPINGJOHN

CHAPTER 25:OCH AYE

Sitting in the local police station John and Sherlock waited for Lestrade. They had tea and biscuits and Sherlock even had a shock blanket, despite not being in shock. He was, however, cold.

They were silent. Nothing really to say. It was nice though, just sitting together.

Soon they heard Lestrades voice and John visibly relaxed.

When the silver haired man came in he shook Johns hand. 

"How are you doing mate?"

"Good good. Thanks for, you know, coming...."

"Sherlock." Lestrade nodded. "Mycroft has a town car to take you home. He has already packed your stuff and arranged to have your hire car taken back."

"Oh...well, we were booked for the week." John said

"Mycroft took care of that too. Paid them extra for the inconvenience."

"No, I mean..we were due a HOLIDAY. " John said.

"And you wonder why I tell you my brother is insufferable." Sherlock snorted.

A tap on the door had Lestrade turning. He spoke with the constable in a low voice, thanked him and turned back.

"They found some human remains in the well." he said.

John tensed his hand around his cup. Sherlock put his hand gently on Johns shoulder.

"Is it Robin?"

"Too early to tell, but preliminary reports are it is a male child between eight and twelve years."

John nodded. Sipped his tea. 

"So it was real, all of it." he said, staring at nothing.

"John..." Sherlock squeezed his shoulder again. Lestrade looked hard at Dr Watson and then said.

"Yeah mate. I'm sorry."

"I was hoping I was just insane" John said then. "That would have been better than..." he waved his hand. Sherlock and Lestrade understood.

After that there were interviews and statements. Harry was called. Witnesses asked for. It was hours and hours of hard questions and emotions and by the time the afternoon came and they were allowed to go John was wiped out.

He gladly climbed into the town car with Sherlock and sighed. He pressed himself to Sherlocks side and Sherlock put his arm around him.

"I don't want to go home yet. I want...time." John said sadly.

Sherlock smiled.

"Scotland? Stay in a haunted castle? Just you and me. Five days."

"Oh that sounds lovely." John sighed.

"All arranged." Sherlock said. "Just had to wait for my phone to charge. I am good like that."

"Sneaky." John smiled.

"Mycroft will be annoyed."

"Bonus!" 

They sat in silence as the comfortable towncar and driver sped them in completely the wrong way from London. 

"Hamish may enjoy himself." John said after a while. "My uncle Hamish, who I got my middle name from on my mothers side was a born and bred Highlander. I reckon that's why Hamish called himself...you know...Hamish."

"I didn't know that John." Sherlock said. "He does strike me as canny but not dour." he added in a Scottish accent.

"ooo, do that again..."

"What?"

"The accent."

"I cannae just turn it on and off ya wee tattie."

John squirmed. "Nice."

"Och John Watson, are ye a wee accent slut?" Sherlock purred his burr in Johns ear and John sighed, closing his eyes and nodding. 

"You remember that blow job, you cursing in French..."

"Oh aye..."

"Goes straight to my cock."

"oh..aye? So...if I were to slide doon you now and take yer cock in my mouth...suck it a wee bit...I would have he squirmin' like an eel...aye?"

"Oh God Sherlock...." John palmed his already hard cock.

"Doctor Watson, ye surprise me every day. Ye are a perrrrrverrrrrt..."

"I am oh God help me Sherlock I love you." and he kissed Sherlock deeply. A perfect warm dirty John kiss that went to both Sherlocks cock and his heart. 

Sherlock broke the kiss off. He just remembered a promise he had made John.

"Hamish..."

"No, John."

"I KNOW John, but Hamish...he made love to me. By the fire. In the B and B. I promised I would tell you of one of your Alters seduced me. And he did."

John paused. It was weird but he was jealous of his own Alter even though it was him. It was because this happened when John was...absent.

"How was it...?" he asked thickly. For some reason his cock stayed hard. Very strange.

"He was...it was..." Sherlock stammered. How much did he tell John?

"Don't lie to me Sherlock. Never lie to me." John warned.

"He was slow. Deep. He took me by surprise, his depth."

He was surprised at Johns smile.

"You aren't..... Cross?"

"Envious." John smiled, still rubbing his cock. "Tell me what he did to you."

"Oh John, you are so dirrrrrty!"

"Tell me, but don't use an accent. I want to save myself for the castle..." John said, his eyes darkening with lust. "if you use that burr on me I am a gonner...."

"He wore just that white shirt you have on." Sherlock said, running his fingers under the neck of the t-shirt John was wearing. John shivered, pressing up into his hand. "He looked hot, his chest and biceps are so big and strong." Sherlock had dropped his voice low, the way John liked it.

"...uh..." was all poor John could say

"He kissed me. I loved kissing him. All mouth." Sherlock touched his mouth with his fingers, aware of Johns hungry eyes on him. "Made me so hard John.." he pressed his other hand on top of the hand John had on his bulging cock.

"....ffffuuuuuck...." John breathed. The combination of the words, the voice and the use of his name had Johns vision going dark round the edges.

"And when he took my throat I nearly came in my pants, right there in front of the fire."

".....nungh...."

"His hands on my body John, all over me." Sherlock drew in a ragged breath and leaned back. He closed his eyes and used hands to rub himself over his clothes like Hamish had.

"....shit...."

"He took my nipples in his teeth John and it hurt so good..."

"...you have to stop Sherlock, I can't last..."

"And when he had my cock in his mouth, sucking it, his tongue all over it, I-"

John moaned and smashed his lips into Sherlocks, taking them roughly with need. Sherlock yelped but kissed back, just as fervently.

"Please...stop..." John begged, dry humping Sherlocks thigh, thrusting his tongue inside Sherlocks hot mouth in time to his thrusting cock. 

Sherlock moaned in pure lust.

"God John, you thrill me."

#

At five past seven they arrived at the castle, hot, bothered and horny. They were shown their room. As the only guests for at least part of their stay they were attended to promptly. They ordered breakfast for 9, then had a shower and slid into the magnificent dark wood four poster bed.

They kissed slowly for a time then John fell asleep. He was mentally and physically exhausted so Sherlock was not insulted. In fact, he followed soon after.

At some stage during the night the secret panel in the wall slid back. A body stood there, staring, then the panel slid back and looked like an ordinary wall again.

#


	26. JACK

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Golf is a stupid game.

SLEEPINGJOHN

CHAPTER 26. JACK

"So in actuality this boy, Anakin, grows up to be Darth Vader?" Sherlock asked at the wonderful breakfast laid on for them the next morning. The dining room was warmed with a fire and they were the only two there. The kitchen staff were quietly rattling in the kitchen and the lone waiter was folding napkins for the dinner they were hosting that night.

"Yes. He has to wear a suit as life support after fighting Obi Wan in the Lava. That's why he is helmeted." John explained. "It explains the breathing too."

"And Padmé Armidala is left pregnant with the twins who grow to be Luke and Leia."

"Yes. It is part of the reason he turns to the Dark Side-"

"But Leia kisses Luke him to make Han jealous, before they find out they are brother and sister!" Sherlock exclaimed.

"I know. Confronting isn't it?" John grinned.

Sherlock stared into the fire. Star Wars was confusing but strangely addictive. He loved how very into it John was.

"I had such a crush on Han Solo." John confessed.

Sherlock turned to face him, eyebrow raised.

"What? Well I did!" John insisted, and even blushed a little.

"He would have been a very bad boyfriend." Sherlock said. 

"All that smuggling and cheating and stealing, and wookie hair all over." John nodded.

"No John.....he would have shot first...."

Sherlock left that in the air for a second. Then John burst into gales of laughter, joyful and straight form the heart. Sherlock smiled, then chuckled, then joined in.

After breakfast they went for a stroll to the obligatory golf course. It was a pretty course, naturally, green and neat. John was not a fan of the game itself but Sherlock explained it in angles and trajectories and John ended up with a new appreciation for the concept of whacking a little white ball around with a stick.

One man was out playing all on his lonesome. Must have been a local because he was very good. No caddy though, Sherlock noticed. 

"Some people don't need a caddy." John explained.

"Well, he is used to having one. He keeps having to come back for his clubs."

Johns phone rang then and he pressed to answer it.

"Greg, hi." he said, and turned out of the wind.

Sherlock saw Johns shoulders slump.

"Thank you Greg." he said, voice pushed out harshly over a lump in his throat. " Yes, I will call you with the details once I have worked them out myself. Will they need a week or so to....oh...yes...fair enough."

Sherlock turned fully on to face his friend.

"Yes, I will be fine. Sherlock is with me." John smiled at Sherlock gratefully. He said his good byes and hung up.

"John?"

"They confirmed it is Robins remains. They need to keep him in the morgue for a while to determine cause of death...."

Sherlock nodded. He had already known that and he suspected John had too. John stared at the ground, hands in his jacket pockets, hunched.

"Military school." he said.

"John?"

"That's how Da got away with it." John said. "He covered Robin with lime, nailed a lid on the well, and told everyone Jack went to Military School to learn discipline...."

"Your mother..." Sherlock began but he noticed John swaying and thrust his arms out to catch him against his chest.

"Christ Sherlock, he was so small!" John sobbed and butted his forehead against Sherlocks shoulder. His sobs shook him and Sherlock tightened his arms around his friend. He held him for a long time, face buried in Johns hair as John simply cried.

It was healthy crying. Grief for his brother, they way he left this life, the way he was unmourned for so long. The ignoble way his body was treated after death, the way his Da made it as if he had never existed. Johns chest filled with pain and all he could do was give in to the empty grief. It was all he could give his hero Robin, but it was enough. 

After a while his sobs turned to hitching tears and finally he sighed. He pulled out from Sherlocks comforting grip and looked up. His face was crushed and red and streaked with tears. 

"I am sorry for your loss John Watson." Sherlock said from his heart and John nodded, a small smile on his lips.

"I need a cup of tea."

They wandered back to the warmth of the castle as the lone golfer once again cursed and came back for his clubs.

#


	27. WALL TROLL

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Come out come out wherever you are...

SLEEPINGJOHN

CHAPTER 27: WALL TROLL

They ate early that night, before the large party of Golf Enthusiast and various wives, husbands and hangers on arrived for the annual dinner. 

Theirs was a nice, subdued dinner with a companionable silence.

John thought a lot about Robin. Sherlock was anxious to ask more questions, he had so many things to ask, but for once he waited rather than storming ahead. He actually cared for John and certainly didn't want to hurt him. Not even a little.

So....what did Ma know about Robins death? 

What of Harry? 

Was her drinking this 'Survivors Guilt' Sherlock had heard of, though why a survivor would feel guilty living their life when the other had died...oh!

"...ah..." he said, quietly. Died yes, but gone to live in John. Hamish made Robin to be with John always. There was a strange beauty in that. But there was a strange beauty in all Johns Alters and the purpose for which they had been created.

Later, the two retired to their room.

Sherlock worked on his web site for a while. John had a shower. 

He came out in a fresh tight white t-shirt and flannel pyjama bottoms, ruffling his wet hair with a towel.

"You told me this castle is haunted." he commented. Sherlock looked up from the laptop and paused, pensively. He had taken off his jacket and was now in just his tailored trousers and Purple Shirt of Sex that John liked so much.

"If you believe in that sort of thing." Sherlock answered.

"Oh, I believe." John smiled, and buried his head under the towel, giving his hair a damn good drying. When he emerged he looked like an angry hedgehog. Sherlock hitched a small lopsided smile.

"It is said there is a screaming lady who walks the roof." He said. 

"Oooo..." John shivered dramatically, tossing the wet towel over to near the bathroom door.

"And the ghost piper of course." 

"Of course."

"The hanging butler. His ghost hangs from a rope in the front room."

"Ohhhh, spoooooky..."

As if on cue there was a huge bump from their door and walls that rattled the windows. John jumped and Sherlock laughed, just once.

"Then there's the wall creeper, an ugly misshapen troll of a man who slides between the wall and the outer brick of the castle, going about his nefarious deeds..."

"Oh well that is hardly fair, I only wear these trousers on the golf course." came a familiar Irish lilt from behind them.

John whirled and crouched slightly, and Sherlock leaped to his feet. They both stared at the curious sight of Moriarty, hair perfect, black eyes flashing, in white shoes, long socks, plaid trousers, plain white shirt with a woollen vest over the top. The logo on the vest was a little golfer taking a mighty swing.

Added to that was a hand gun, pointed with a steady hand their way.

"Ah, no caddy!" Sherlock swore to himself.

"What...?" John said.

"Ohhhh, sexy boy. You are clever!" Moriarty smiled at Sherlock. "You must know how hard it is to go through life without your caddy." he added, and grinned quickly at John before facing down Sherlock again. "Not just in golf...Sebastian was my right hand. I still find myself putting out my hand for a weapon and he is not there to give it to me. Or a golf club." He nodded.

"What do you want?" Sherlock sighed.

"Two things..."

"Scotland yard to burn, yes, boring." Sherlock snapped.

"Oh good for you Sherlock." Jim said, face calm. "But what I really want is that little firecracker I met at the ball, the angry boy inside John Watson."

"Which one?" Sherlock asked and Jims eyes grew brighter. He looked to John.

"How many are living inside you Doctor Watson, and how many can I fuck?"

"I've lost count-"

"Six, including you John." Sherlock helped.

"Yes, thank you Sherlock." John snapped. He turned back to Jim. "None of them want you."

"Oh come on John, I am gorrrrrrgeous."

"No."

"Not even a little?"

"No."

"Well, I will just have to take by force that which I was hoping would be freely given." 

Jim stepped forward, placing cable ties on the bed.

"Be good enough to bind Sherlocks hands, be a sweetheart Doctor."

"No."

"John, please, I am the criminal mastermind in the room. Surely you know I have more than just this gun over you."

"I won't do it."

"Doctor....the party below is filled with my men. The door to this room is locked from the outside. I have men guarding all exits, even the secret panel in this room. The window is reinforced and also locked from the outside." Jim explained. 

"Ah, the thump." Sherlock said. 

Moriarty dimpled prettily at Sherlock.

"The gun IS loaded, but my aim may be off. A little bit. Say...Sherlocks ear instead of his heart...."

Jim raised the gun and John jumped in front of Sherlock.

"Okay you sick fuck!"

"Flattery, Doctor, will get you a French kiss to leave your knees weak."

John took up the cable ties and bound Sherlocks wrists together. He tried not to do it too tightly. He knew from his childhood just how much those evil little ties could cut. His hands were shaking.

"John...?" Sherlock whispered.

"I'm good."

"Drag that chair over John, there's a good lad." Jim said then, motioning with the gun to the chair Sherlock had been sitting at moments before. 

John did as he was asked. 

He dragged the chair to the centre of the room, facing the bed.

Moriarty motioned for Sherlock to sit and the detective did so.

"Bind his ankles to the chair leg Watson" Jim ordered. John knelt to do so, also making sure it was not too tight.

"And now, his throat of you would be so kind."

"No, I can't!"

"John, don't be tiresome."

John was beginning to quake.

"Oh give them here." Jim snapped. He snatched the remaining cable ties and rounded behind Sherlock. "No tricks now, I am faster than you." He warned John, who had tensed, ready to fight.

Jim put the gun in his mouth like a flamenco dancers rose and tied a cable tie around Sherlocks throat. He made sure to be able to fit two fingers under it.

"....like a cats collar, Don't want him choking. Yet..." He said, muffled voice around the barrell of the gun.

He then tied the last remaining tie through the collar to the back of the chair, making in impossible for Sherlock to move his head forward without cutting his own throat.

Jim took the gun out of his mouth and waved his arms about.

"There! Lovely!" he said. He then put the gun down the back of his pants and smiled at John. "I can get to the gun faster than you John so stop plotting." he snipped. "And I like Sherlocks ears."

"I hate you." John said, matter-of-factly.

"Aw pet I know you do, and that gets me hot for teacher." Jim rubbed the front of his Plus Fours lazily. "Now, let's see who I can get to come out and play."

Then he strolled across the room and backhanded John in the face.

#


	28. JOHNS FURY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here come da funk!

SLEEPINGJOHN 

CHAPTER 28: JOHNS FURY

Moriarty reacted quicker than Johns Alter. 

He grabbed Johns wrists and forced them down and behind His back before John had even recovered from the blow, bringing both their chests together. Moriarty was thrilled to have a close up view of John shifting into his Alter state.

Sherlock braced himself for TheFuryandtheFears intense anger and hatred to burst through. He doubted even Moriarty could fight that Alter off, even having studied his moves at the Ball.

But the detective was caught off guard....

Johns eyes softened and he smiled. Coyly. Licking the blood from his lip.

"You like to play rough..." he purred.

"Flirt!" Sherlock said. "Not now!"

"Sherlock shush, don't get jealous. Look at him. He's beautiful!" Flirt said. 

To say Moriarty was on the wrong foot would have been a mild understatement. He was completely blindsided and it electrified him to his core.

"Hello cutiepie." he managed, pulling a quick jerk down on Flirts arms. Flirts eyes went wide then slitted and he licked at his broken lip again.

"I like that. So strong." he purred. Moriartys cock jerked. That was unexpected.

"Kiss me..." Flirt whispered then. Oh God help him, Jim did.

The kiss was devastating. Deep and wet, and Flirt made himself pliant. He loved the pull on his arms, the stretch of his chest arching into Moriarty, the vicious need of the master criminals pretty mouth.

The moan that welled from Flirts throat lanced straight to Moriartys cock and his brain whirled. He had expected a fight but this little whore held tight to him was better, so much better, than he ever expected.

Moriarty lapped at the cut on Flirts mouth and Flirt gasped, pushing into Jim for more, more touch, more body, more kissing and pain.

In the background they heard Sherlock struggle and hiss as the cable tie collar caught his throat. This caused another moan to pulse in Flirts throat and Moriarty nearly came right then, pressed to Flirts muscled chest.

Jim pulled away, sucking Flirts tongue right out of the mans mouth, extending it to just a little further than was comfortable. The heat in Flirts eyes was catching and Moriarty bit the tongue before releasing it. 

"Nice..." Flirt said. Then: "More..."

"Oh Sherlock, I see now why you keep John around, so much more to him than meets the eye." 

"Lots of tricks too." Sherlock said. "Watch him."

"Warning me Sherlock?" Jim turned to face the detective. "How sporting-"

Then he gasped. Flirts mouth was on his neck and he was sucking, licking, biting. He was no Sebastian Moran but he was so into it Moriarty found his eyes closing, enjoying the sensations. Flirt was good. Flirt was very good! His lips alone should be registered as weapons of mass seduction.

"I want you to fuck me..." Flirt whispered, and Jim groaned in lust. Sherlock also groaned, but for a very different reason. "Let him watch..."

"No!" Sherlock cried. Not that, he couldn't bear it.

"Your boyfriend objects John." Moriarty said, leaning his neck into Flirts mouth but looking at Sherlocks Firey eyes.

"Flirt. My name is Flirt." Flirt said, licking the master criminals pulse.

"Flirt then." Jim said, and moaned, straight into Sherlocks furious face. He nuzzled Flirts wet hair and Flirt shivered.

"Hurt me Jim." he whispered. "Pleeeeeeeese..."

Sherlock roared in helpless anger as Moriarty spun Flirt around and threw him over the bed, face up. He lunged at the Alter, pinning him by his wrists and spitefully kissing him hard, making the cut bleed again.

To see Flirt arch up and moan against Jim caused Sherlock to nearly garrotte himself as he threw himself forward. He gargled a quick gasp but nothing could stop Jim from ravishing the delightful creature writhing beneath him.

He took his time marking Flirts neck with his vicious little teeth, pulling blood to the surface, leaving purple dents and light scrapes. Flirt took it all with hissing yeses and languid moans that quite blistered Moriartys soul. When their hips met in a harsh thrust Sherlock growled again. This made Flirt arch and shiver, and he begged for Jim's mouth on his again. 

Jim paused, and smiled. 

Sherlock saw the quick change way before Moriarty did. Flirts eyes went wide and white and he tried to curl up.

"TheBody is safe. I have a knife under the pillow." SleepingJohn announced.

Moriartys brain was still lust filled so all he said was "....Eh?"

That was when Fury made his move. Again, like the masterful Ball ballet, Fury swept his hand up under the pillow, flipped Jim off him and dragged the Master criminal off the bed by the lapels. He put the knife in his teeth like a pirate, popped the gun out from Jim's plus fours with his other hand and, now armed with a knife AND a gun, twisted Moriartys arm up behind him and frog marched him over to Sherlock. 

"ohhhh GOOD!" Jim cried, and laughed excitedly. Fury slit the ties at Shsrlocks wrists with a deft hand.

"Here." Fury snapped and passed the knife to Sherlock. "Be fucking careful with it you fuck, you cut that pretty throat and I will kick your arse halfway to next week!"

"Yes Fury." Sherlock grinned, and carefully began cutting the ties at his throat.

Fury then took the time to throw the Master criminal across the room to land with a stagger against the wall. Jim crumpled but was still laughing, albeit a bit breathlessly.

"You disgusting little maggot, who do you think you are?" Fury stalked over to Moriarty and booted him hard in the thigh. Despite Fury having bare feet the kick hurt and the muscle knotted in pain.

"You're the one!" Jim said. "You're the one who took me down!"

"I will do it again and again you Irish fuck!" Fury spat, plugging the gun into the waistband of his Pyjamas and dragging Jim up by the lapels again. He head butt him between the eyes. Jim fell back, dizzy with pain and crazy aching lust.

"You're the one I need Firecracker." he said around his blood thick mouth, nose already swelling. 

"I promise to fuck you Jim." Fury said, eyes full of hatred. Moriarty squirmed under that gaze. "I will fuck you up..."

"please..." Moriarty begged. 

There was a hissing sound and Jim suddenly put his hand over his nose and mouth.

"Fury, gas!" Sherlock yelled as he cut his last ankle bond free.

Fury turned to Sherlocks voice but too late he realised there was a misty substance pouring under the door. 

He looked back but Jim was already scuttling to the now open secret panel. 

He heard Sherlocks body thump to the ground behind him as he managed to grab the gun and swing it at Jim's blurry departing figure. He got off one shot before the gas hit him and he inelegantly passed out on the floor.

#


	29. VOTE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Need my subscribers to help me

Next scene is already planned in my head but I need a location.

Boat in the middle of Loch Ness

OR

Castle dungeons.

Vote now!


	30. GOOD TEA AND A SPOT OF DUNGEONING

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dungeons AND water was the vote...HUZZAH!!

SLEEPINGJOHN

CHAPTER 30: GOOD TEA AND A SPOT OF DUNGEONING

"God Sherlock, what happened?" John moaned, looking at the devastation of his throat in the mirror.

"You really want to know?" Sherlock asked, rubbing soothing aloe Vera into the cut at his own throat.

"Everything...."

So Sherlock told him, his voice low and matter-of-fact. Johns eyes bugged out. He shook his head. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, gently. There was a bruise there which Sherlock informed him, came from Fury head butting Moriarty.

"I hated Flirt all over him."Sherlock finally confessed.

"From what I understand my body sends out the best Alters for the job. And it worked." John said.

"I understand that in here." Sherlock pointed to his head. "But not here." and he laid his hand on his heart."

John placed his hand over that hand.

"I love you and I want you to be safe. All my Alters do." he said. "And if Flirt has to tongue fuck Moriarty to do it he will." 

John kissed Sherlock gently, lovingly, despite the jabbing pain in his cut lip.

"We better check the Hotel for henchmen." he said then, finding the doors and windows were now unlocked.

#

The party was long over by the time the Detective and his blogger made it down to the dining room. They must have been out for hours. The staff had just about finished cleaning.

Sherlock found the owner.

"How long have you been in cahoots with James Motiarty?" he demanded. The man looked confused.

"Sorry?"

"Me too...."

It took 15 minutes for Sherlock to work out that Moriarty and his men had come and gone through this castle with no-one being the wiser. Lestrade was informed but really, all that could be done had already been done by Sherlock. 

"Mystery panel it is." Sherlock said then.

"Tea first please Sherlock." John moaned. "If I am to be up all night chasing phantoms, I need tea. So much for a nice relaxing holiday."

"But Watson, the game is afoot!"

"My a-foot is going up your a-arse." John informed his friend. He had to admit it though, he did love it when Sherlock got all spaniel hunting dog, sniffing for the solution to a mystery.

"Fine, tea...." 

John was served a piping hot cuppa by the fire by the owner, who was most apologetic but also busy. There was a lunch crowd due tomorrow, or rather later on today, and the dining room had to be set up ready. 

Sherlock paced behind John muttering to himself.

"Moriarty wants us to do something, but what? He goads out Johns Alters, wants Fury, but why? Fury is only real for the time he is out, what does that give Moriarty?"

"Sex." John Watson said, sipping his tea.

"What...."

"Moriarty wants Fury for sex."

"And that's okay with you?" Sherlock snapped jealously.

"No. Nor is it okay with Fury."

"Flirt wouldn't mind it." Sherlock huffed crossly.

"Flirt is a slut, that's who he is, wants to please everyone." John said, hardly even believing that Flirt was an actual fracture of himself. He loved sex, especially with Sherlock, and just could not get over the idea that part of his psyche wanted to debase himself on anything with a cock.

"Who did you not please,John, that Hamish made Flirt." Sherlock asked then, stopping in front of John. 

John sipped, unflappable.

"That is a sixty-four million dollar question."

"Oh drink up John, we have a mystery to solve!"

"Oh do hush up Julian!" John said in an overly posh voice. Sherlock tensed but once again, it was not a new Alter. It was John making some sort of social reference.

"Famous Five?" John said. "Julian,Dick, Anne, George, Timmy the dog? Solved mysteries together? Kirin Island?"

Sherlock shook his head.

"I suppose you read 'Metaphasic Princeples in the lesser know Fungal Species' or some such thing..."

"You made that up!" Sherlock cried, happy he worked it out so quickly.

"I did." John smiled.

"......good one John." he grinned. "Now let's go!"

John sighed, finished his tea and toddled along in Sherlocks swoopy-coat wake.

#

It took Sherlock a total of three minutes and eighteen seconds to find out how the panel moved back. He then took one of the substantial busts in the room and jammed the door open. 

They spent some time sorting for provisions. Warm coats, sturdy shoes, magnifying glass, a torch. 

John packed the gun into his jacket pocket.

A quick txt to Lestrade and they made their way into the dark opening.

Sherlock led the way. The passage lead along the backs of the rooms before they found a stairway. It led down, so they slowly descended. It was pitch black in there, and the one torch was hard to see to walk by. John ended up grabbing the skirt of Sherlocks Belstaff so the detective would not leave him behind.

After a while the stairs stopped and another passage opened before them. They walked carefully along here. A rat scared John into squeaking like a little girl and then muttering "Shut up" to a softly chuckling Sherlock. 

Then, more stairs. These were colder and more silent. They took their time until finally, up ahead, they saw the comforting glow of electric lights.

They came out into what could only be described as a dungeon. It was all stone and moss and leaky walls, vaulted architraves and bats. Manacles rusted on the walls and there were spiky bits of furniture, cages, chains, and other things John thought were so stereotypical he scoffed.

But the most interesting thing in the space was Moriarty.

He had changed into all black, with impressive high leather boots and matching gloves, and a long leather coat that many animals died to make."Well hello there boys. I was thinking you would never wake up." Moriarty said. "You surprised me back there of course, John and his little Alters. All working together like a team." 

John tensed, easing the gun from his pocket.

"I would like you to meet my team now."

The gun was suddenly kicked from Johns hand and in surprisingly little time Moriartys black clad henchmen had John and Sherlock disarmed, and held from behind by the wrists and heads, kneeling at Jim Moriartys feet.

"Well this I like. This I can work with." Moriarty said then. He stood tall above Sherlock and John, but it was Johns head he lifted with his gloved hand.

"Why do you fight me Fury. Give in to me. You know you want it."

Johns answer was a glob of spit which flew in the air and landed on the tip of one of Moriartys lovely new boots,

"oh dear Mister Watson. That will cost you."

And the master criminal kicked Sherlock in the centre of his chest.

#


	31. SCREWED

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dungeon fun

SLEEPINGJOHN

CHAPTER 31: SCREWED

Sherlock flew back and hit the stone floor of the dungeon with a painful grunt. He rolled onto his side and curled up, moaning.

"Sherlock!" John cried in horror. Moriarty never took his fingers from Johns face.

"Anything? Nothing?" he asked. No Alter appeared. 

The henchman over Sherlock pushed the detective over on his back and went through Sherlocks pockets. The phone was removed and crushed underfoot. The torch was thrown into a wall.

"They don't come out at command!" John yelled at Moriarty. 

"oh now John, we both know that's not true." Jim said. "Sherlock hypnotised you didn't he?"

"How in the hell would you know that?" John demanded.

"I didn't, until now." Moriarty said, "I just know the treatment, guessed Sherlock would be the only one you would let rummage in your psyche. How's the big fella doing?" Jim added, looking over at Sherlock and the henchman.

Sherlock was back in foetal position, groaning as his chest kept aching.

"Let me see to him." John said. "I AM a doctor...."

"Oh now what fun would that be?" Jim said. "I do think I may have spoiled the party though. Now I know."

"Now you know what you sadistic prick!"

"Names get me hard John, just ask your Flirt." Jim winked at John who grimaced under the henchman's continued pressure on his head and wrists. 

Jim went on:

"Now I know Sherlock could get me what I want. Or rather, WHO I want." 

Jim crossed to where Sherlock lay moaning.

"Oh he's no good, too moany now." 

"Let me see him!" John demanded, twisting in the henchman's grip then hissing in pain.

"He won't be able to hypnotise you for a while Johnny. I kicked him way too hard."

"God." John breathed.

"Well there is more than eighty ways to skin a skunk. Get the thumbscrews." 

"What, no!" John cried.

"John, we are in a dungeon. We can't let all this cool stuff go to waste!"

"Thumb screws?" John questioned, panic on the edge of his voice.

"Well, they are not the originals, but they hurt just as much." Jim said and the henchman holding John grunted, agreeing.

"See Johnny if the Alters cannot come out by asking nicely...." Jim squatted down in front of John. "I will scream them out. I know that works."

"Hit me." John said.

"Foreplay already John?"

"No, hit me, the Alters came out when you hit me last night. Hit me again."

"Hit you and not hurt Sherlock?" Jim asked.

"Yes, that's exactly it." John said through gritted teeth.

Jim pretended to think this over. Then he said:

"No. This way I get to hear Sherlock scream AND get to fuck the Firecracker."

"No, Jim, don't, please!" John didn't care if he sounded beggy, he had seen what modern thumbscrew could do, he treated such injuries in Afghanistan.

Henchy two had already got the shiny device out of his pocket.

"Turn him around." Jim ordered Henchman2, who roughly made John turn and face the action.

Jim grabbed Sherlocks wrist and dragged his arm forward, away from curling against his chest.

"...no..." Sherlocks weak voice protested, struggling to sit up and take his arm back. Henchman 1 crouched behind him and wrapped his arm around Sherlocks already damaged throat. Sherlock choked on the arm as it flexed around him, cutting off his air.

"Not too much my dear." Jim said, and henchman 1 let his arm slacken. 

Jim was humming happily, sliding the apparatus on one of Sherlocks long fingers. It was basically a clamp made to crush the delicate tendons and bones of whatever part of a human it was used against.

"Jim, stop this!"

"You are the only one who can stop this John. All I need is The Firecracker." he began to turn the screw.

"I cannot do it! I have no control!" John cried.

"Then who does?" Jim asked. John panted, his heart pounding. Sherlock whimpered as the screw began to squeeze his finger.

"John, it's fine, don't-" his voice choked off under the muscles of Henchman 1. Then, despite the arm, Sherlock screamed.

"NO! STOP THIS!" John roared, trying to fight his way forward, only to be held back by Henchman 2

"Tell whoever it is to bring them out Johnny my sweet."

Sherlock whimpered, snorting breaths through his nose, fighting the pain. Then Jim turned the screw again and Sherlock kicked as another scream tore from him. He fell to sobbing, bruised chest rising and falling with increased breaths, adrenalin pounding in his neck.

"STOP THIS, STOP STOP STOP!!!" John screamed, and then he blacked out completely. 

#


	32. SPEAK SWEETLY TO ME

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moriarty unleashes Fury, and then worse...

SLEEPINGJOHN

CHAPTER 32: SPEAK SWEETLY TO ME

If Ignorance is bliss then Jim Moriarty was about to be the happiest man on earth.

What he unintentionally launched that night in the dungeons under the castle would haunt him for the rest of his life.

And it started off so nice!

The first thing he realised was that the henchman holding John was falling away, head twisted at an unnatural angle. 

The second henchman dropped Sherlocks neck, and stood to confront this new danger, only to have his nose smashed so hard up into his face shards of bone pierced his brain. 

He was dead before he hit the ground.

Jim stood to his feet to face off to this mortal danger, only to see the fierce form of what appeared to be John Watson facing him down.

"Now you Irish bastard, get that archaic device off Sherlocks' hand or I will kill you where you stand." he hissed. 

Moriarty breathed in.

"Firecracker!" he sighed. He flicked a stiletto from the sleeve of his leather coat and dragged Sherlock to his feet. Sherlock keened in pain as the thumbscrew was jostled, then froze as the sharp end of the stiletto pressed against his jugular vein.

"Let him go." Fury said. "You will not see this night out alive!"

"Oh stop it Firecracker, you are getting me haaaarrrrrd..." he rolled his 'R's sexily and smiled. "I am not as stupid as my staff. You will not be able to get me nearly as easily as you did them."

"Remove the device from Sherlock." Fury spat.

"No, Firecracker." Jim said. "I think you will do exactly what I say as long as I keep Sherlock fettered." Sherlock hissed in a deep breath as Jim shook him, knocking the thumbscrew again. He went to pull it off and Jim pressed the stiletto in further.

"Jim, please..."Sherlock whispered, skin grey with pain.

"Hush cherry-pie." Jim whispered, without taking his eyes off Fury.

Fury's fists clenched and his whole body thrummed with anger.

"Firecracker, you look tense." Jim said. "You need to relaaxxxx...."

"I will relax when I have your heart in my fist you fucker!" Fury spit. 

"Sweetheart you keep talking to me like that I am going to come right here in my panties." Jim smiled. "Now this is what we are going to do. You, me, and your boyfriend are going to go down that staircase to the left. We are going to get in a dinghy and head out into the loch where I have a boat waiting. Yes,yes, there are a few of my men on it but I am sure you will be sweet as pie to me won't you Firecracker, so your darling here gets nicer treatment."

"I will kill you in your sleep." Fury promised. 

"I am sure you will big boy!" Jim cried sarcastically. "Now, in front, move."

Fury eyed Moriarty with eyes that spat venom, then did a military turn and marched off. 

Jim jabbed the knife into Sherlock and pushed him to start walking. He stumbled, and the thumbscrew knocked against his coat. A scream tore from his throat but Fury did not stop, did not look back.

They descended the steps until they came across a small underground harbour. A rubber ducky was tied to the wharf. Fury slid into the boat and went to the bow. He sat, staring forward.

Sherlock staggered into the boat and was sat at the engine end by the scruff of his coat. Jim started the engine and moved the ducky slowly forward. He had his stiletto at Sherlocks spine but took the time to bend Sherlocks arm back and put the tortured finger between his knees, pressing lightly, a warning to be good.

Sherlock whimpered and rocked slightly the whole way out onto the Loch and over to the lit up boat in the middle of the vast body of water.

It took five minutes to get out to the boat and another three to get Fury, Sherlock and Jim onboard with nobody doing anything crazy. Fury would not risk Sherlock for anything but he was spitting with anger by the time he was on deck.

He was straight away held at bay by three of Moriartys many minions as Sherlock collapsed on the deck.

"Jim, you..." Fury started, then pulled himself up. "Let me take it off him...."

"No sweet words?" Moriarty said. Then he acquiesced. "Go on then, consider it a wedding gift."

Fury was pushed to his knees to land by Sherlock and then the minions hands left him. Fury carefully lifted the hand with the thumbscrew on and put it on his lap.

"Sherlock this will fucking hurt." he said, and began to unscrew the clamp stuck cruelly to Sherlocks finger. "Look at me!" Fury demanded, and Sherlocks pain glazed eyes reached his and locked. "I am so fucking sorry mate..."

Sherlock whimpered, then gasped, then screamed as the blood filled his finger again. The second the clamp was off Fury flung it into the loch.

"That's coming out of your pay soldier!" Jim yelled furiously, and waved the minions to pull Sherlock away from where he had huddled in Furys arms. Fury growled as Sherlock was removed and dragged off.

"Sweetheart sweetheart, don't worry. You be nice to me, and Sherlock will be fine." Jim jabbed at Fury with the stiletto and Fury leaped to his feet and rounded on Moriarty.

"Never turn your back on me Moriarty you bastard, I have killed lesser fucks than you for lesser shit they pulled. Your stunts are going to earn you my special attention!" Fury told him, eyes steely, boring into the master criminals.

Jim nodded over Furys head and Fury heard Sherlock scream.

"My darling, I told you, Sherlocks' well being depends on how nice you treat me."

"I will Skull.Fuck.You."

"There, was that so hard? Now come on..."

Jim and one minion herded Fury down the steps and towards a room at the stern of the boat. Jim closed the door and Fury found himself in a beautifully fitted out bedroom, all shiny blonde wood, round bed with a gold jacquard duvet, and soft carpet.

Fury turned on his heel to see the minion standing guard and Moriarty staring at him.

"Take your clothes off Fury. Let's have a look at you."

"Fuck yourself."

"I would rather fuck you. Don't be shy, daddy's getting horrrrrrneeeeee...." Jim was slowly strip teasing off his gloves as he spoke in a sing song voice.

"I am not touching you freak."

"Oh I think you will." Jim slid his coat off and crossed to where Fury stood, his compact body still so strung with anger. "Let's get it on Firecracker."

"Over my dead-"

And Moriarty *king hit the side of his head.

#

\----------------------------

*king hit is now known as Cowards Punch


	33. ON A GOT SUMMER NIGHT WOULD YOU OFFER YOUR THROAT TO THE WOLF WITH THE RED ROSES

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unleash the Furies of war!!!

SLEEPINGJOHN

CHAPTER 33: ON A HOT SUMMER NIGHT WOULD YOU OFFER YOUR THROAT TO THE WOLF WITH THE RED ROSES.

When John Watson came back to reality he thought at first he had been run over by a truck, his head was splitting. He groaned, and that groan hurt his head.

He became aware then that he was naked, on his side, and that his arms were bound with metal cuffs behind him. He tried to move but it was just too much effort.

So he slowly cranked his eyes open.

Whatever it was he thought he would see it was not Jim Moriarty in a leopard print posing pouch staring at him like he was blancmange.

"Hello peaches." Jim said.

"...the fuck...?"

"Oh Doctor Watson. Hmmm, yes, I seem to have gone at this like a bull in a baby nursery."

"Where am..?"

"On my boat. On the Loch."

"Sherlock...?"

"No, Loch Ness...oh! Your boyfriend! He has had some soup and a cup of tea and is resting nicely, blindfolded and tied. He has three lovely gentlemen guarding him to keep him from harm." Jims eyes slitted slightly. "Three very well armed gentlemen."

"What exactly do you want?" John croaked.

"Well you see I am still learning about all this Personalities Inside Watson thing." Moriarty said, waving his hands and shifting his body so that the pouch thrust obscenely. "I seem to have got too handsy. What can I say, I am such a tinker!" he giggled.

"But if I want Firecracker, the one you call Fury, I thought the way to get him out to play would be to make Sherlock suffer. And that did work for a while. Sherlocks pain made Fury come along nicely. But if Sebby or one of my other playmates refused me I always found that punching them in the head would settle them down."

"Lovely..."

"Don't get all judgey....Judgey Mac Judgerson....you are far from perfect yourself." Jim snorted. "But it seems if I want Fury to be a good boy, king hitting* him in the head was the wrong sort of encouragement." 

"Jesus Christ you phycho, did you not think to just ask?" John said.

Moriarty looked taken aback.

"Well...no...it never crossed my mind to ask..."

"Did your mother not love you enough as a child?" John asked then.

"No of course not, do you think I would be like this if I was?" Jim said, then he bent his head down to Johns ear. "But you would know all about that darling."

"Not me, one of the Alters. I am blissfully ignorant. Jealous?" 

Truth to tell Jim WAS a bit jealous.

"I want to play with Fury, can he come out to play?" Jim pouted then.

"No Jim, it does not work that way, do you recall? I am not in control."

"Yes, I recall you saying that. Who IS in control."

"If I told you that then..." John trailed off, closed his eyes and shuddered.

"Oh...." Jim said.

When Watsons eyes opened someone else was peering out of his face.

"Well, who is THIS then? And can I play with you?" 

The new eyes in Watsons face raked the whole of Jims body, top to toe, and Jim found himself feeling exposed. He did not like the feeling. The eyes came to rest on the posing pouch for a few seconds and then skated up to catch Jims own eyes.

"My name is Hamish." Hamish said.

"Och, Haaaaaaaamish is it?" Jim said in an over-the-top Scottish accent. Hamish was silent, still staring into Jims eyes. "You look dull. Call Fury out to play. I want to do filthy things to him."

Hamishs' eyes flicked to the posing pouch and back to Jims eyes again.

"Clearly." he said. Moriarty frowned.

"All I want is Furys cock in my arse. I mean is that too much to ask?" Moriarty whined.

"You asked. We said no." Hamish said. 

"No is NOT AN OPTION!" Jim shouted. Hamish watched the guard at the door flinch, then he turned back to Moriarty.

"You can fuck me Jim." he said, his voice calm.

"No no no no no!!! This is all wrong!" Moriarty snapped, rolling off the bed to stalk.

"It is not just one man you are dealing with here." Hamish explained. "Sure even you must see that."

"I see one body, I see one man." Jim sighed, slipping into a short black silk robe and tying it round the hips.

"That's where you have made your mistake. Uncuff me Jim. I won't run." Hamish said. 

Jim paused. The offer was tempting. But....

"I don't want you! I want the little firecracker!"

"I can bottom." Hamish said. 

Jim made an angry noise. This personality had annoying balls of Steel. It was irritating. But he paused.

"Will you beg?"

"What should I beg for?" Hamish asked.

"My cock, my mouth, to come, to live..." 

"I can beg." Hamish said. "Uncuff me. You can hold me down by the wrists."

Jim clapped his hands.

"Oh yes, and the more you struggle the more chance I have that Firecracker will come to play!"

Hamish shrugged one shoulder, the one not pinned to the bed.

Jim pushed Hamish over and unlocked the cuffs from a key he fished from his posing pouch. The guard by the door smirked but neither man on the bed saw. The cuffs were then tossed and Jim rolled the naked handsome Hamish over onto his back.

"Just a minute, my arms...." Hamish said, and stretched a little, moving the shoulder joints. He quirked a smile."Have at me."

Jim stared into the frankly beautiful yet passive eyes of Hamish. 

"I don't like rough, but I know Fury does." Hamish offered.

With a growl Jim grabbed Hamishs' wrists and forced them above his head roughly. He pounced on Hamishs' prone body and began to kiss him, roughly, with teeth.

"Harder, Fury likes it harder Jim." Hamish told him between vicious biting kisses. Jim upped his assault, until he was redoing the love bites he had given Flirt the night before. And then, after one particularly deep bite, Moriarty got his wish.

Fury burst to the surface, growling like a panther. He fought for dominance over Jim and Moriarty laughed in glee.

"Firecra-" was all he managed before Fury was at his throat, biting and tearing at the delicate flesh there. 

"Ohhhh GOD YES!!!" Moriarty cried thickly, eyes rolling in pure unadulterated lust.

Before he knew what was happening Fury used his teeth on a special spot on Jims neck. He felt the dizzying waves of unconsciousness reaching for him and then he realised...

He has been played.

"...good..." was all he managed to choke before he passed out.

Fury had Jim up and off the bed, clasped to him before the guard had even realised his boss was in trouble. He had seen a number of Jims sexual encounters and knew just how rough he liked it. 

He went straight for his gun but Fury had Jim in a strange headlock.

"Drop the gun or I snap his neck." Fury told him. 

The guard hesitated for a split second, then delicately dropped the gun.

"Move!"

In a strange dance the guard and Fury, with Jim held to him, swapped places. In a move that frankly impressed the pants off the guard, Fury used his foot to flip the gun up off the carpet. He caught it awkwardly but effectively in one hand. He cocked the gun, then placed it to Jims temple.

"You won't get far." the guard promised.

Fury sighed, then turned the gun on the guard and shot him straight between the eyes. The gun made a weird "pwip" sound due to the silencer and Fury was out of the room before the body even fell to the floor.

Still running on pure fury, Fury took out three more guards before he found where Sherlock was being held. In short order he took out those three too, then dumped Jims body next to where Sherlock lay, blindfolded with his hands cable tied in front of him.

"John?"

"Close mate, fuck, you okay?"

"Fine. Fury, did he hurt...or..." Sherlock paused. Fury found a knife on one of the guards bodies and began to cut away the cable ties around Sherlocks hands. He was careful to avoid the damaged finger.

"We are all okay." Fury reassured Sherlock. 

Sherlock gasped as his wrists were freed and he instantly lifted the blindfold. He saw Moriartys prone leopard skin silk robed body and then cast his eyes up over Furys impressive muscled naked form. Fury was looking out of the port hole, with the gun pointed down in two hands. It was almost pre dawn and he was looking for other craft, guards, or anything else that may be help or hinder his escape bid.

"Right, I'll grab Jim, you-" Fury began, but saw Sherlock looking at him. "What?"

"You may want to think about getting some clothes on Fury. Impressive as you are, it's cold out on the Loch." 

Fury glanced down at his nudeness, then over at Jims obscenely sexual robe. Then he looked over at Sherlock. Then back to Jim...

He turned his eyes to Sherlock.

 

"For fucks sake, give me your fucking coat!"

 

\--------------------------------

 

*King Hit is now known as Cowards Punch.  
#


	34. DO YOU KNOW WHERE THE PIRATES...ARRRRR?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fury listens to reason. Just.

SLEEPING JOHN

CHAPTER 34: DO YOU KNOW WHERE THE PIRATES...ARRRRRRR?

They could only find Johns jacket from the clothes he had come over from the castle in, so they made a compromise and took a black shirt from one dead guard, black jeans from another and socks and boots from another.

Fury was then able to hunt the rest of the boat for stragglers while Sherlock happily bound and gagged Jim Moriartys still unconscious form.

He then found a working phone and txt Lestrade. 

When Fury came back Sherlock noticed the heightened colour in his cheeks and smelled burned gun oil. He chose not to say anything.

"Leave the bodies. I am sure the police will want to have things nice and tidy." Sherlock said.

"I found a great place to tie him while we wait." Fury commented, nodding to Moriarty, who was just mumbling awake.

"Give me the gun, you take him."Sherlock offered.

Fury passed the gun to the detective then bent to heave Jims slight body up over his shoulder. Moriarty sqwarked through his gag and then Fury was sure he heard giggling.

Fury led the way to the bridge of the boat. He threw Jim onto the white and chrome Captains chair and proceeded to use water proof electrical tape to secure the criminal master mind to the actual chair itself.

"What, it's screwed to the deck!" Fury commented at Sherlocks look.

Sherlock nodded, then lent with one elbow on the console. He looked out of the vast windows that made up the bridge of this frankly pretty bloody impressive boat. Dawn was coming.

"Not got any bombs on board?" he asked Moriarty, then turned to look at the now very secured criminal in his robe, gag, tape and posing pouch. Slowly, Jim shook his head.

Sherlocks stolen phone chirped.

"OI, in your pocket, you got a txt dooooooooooche baaaaaaag! OI, in your pocket, you got a txt dooooooooooche baaaaaaag! OI, in your pocket, you got a txt dooo-"

Fury quirked an eyebrow.

"Ah, Lestrade." Sherlock said as he opened the 'phone. "He will be here in about 3 hours and he said he hopes our holiday has been restful." 

Sherlock flipped the phone shut and looked up at Fury. "Sarcasm?"

Fury nodded.

Moriarty shifted again, trying to get comfortable. Fury snatched the gun from Sherlock and lifted it in two hands. He aimed it, hands steady as a rock, between Jims big black eyes.

Jim froze.

"Fury." Sherlock said quietly. "I know you are angry. I know how angry I am. He put us in danger, tried to rape....I don't know, so many of your Alters it is hard to keep track. He tortured me physically and both of us mentally." 

Sherlock shifted slightly, turned towards Fury more.

"He has taken away our liberty over the last few days, forced you into mental places you were not ready to go...but I really don't think you want to kill him."

"'Course I fucking do!" Fury said, hands still steady, eyes never leaving Jims face.

"Fury, remember Afghanistan. You killed someone who was endangering you all right then. He did something despicable, and you stopped him."

Fury growled.

"And Moriarty has done things just as bad." Sherlock said. "But unlike your Major, who did not know what he was doing, this....creature...knows it." Sherlock stepped up next to Fury, his heat and presence well felt by the angry Alter.

"Right from wrong, Jim knows and does not care for right." Sherlock dropped his voice. He made it even and soft.

"Fury, yours was a mercy killing. And the basic good man you are, my John, is a doctor. A saver of lives. For him to be put in that situation where death was the only answer was unforgivable."

Sherlock bent closer to his doctor, his friend.

"Killing Moriarty would never be the same. It would be revenge, pure and simple. And revenge, my good Doctor Watson, is a dish best served cold."

Fury by then had slumped back against the console, gun limp in his hands. 

"John...." Sherlock squeezed the mans shoulder. John Watsons beautiful face appeared. "Welcome back. I missed you."

Moriarty made what could have been interpreted as dry retching sounds.

"Sherlock..." John looked down at the gun. "Oh God, was I..."

"Fury was."

"Ah." John nodded, giving over the gun to Sherlock with ease. Sherlock put it in the pocket of his coat.

"See if there is a first aid kit in here John. Treat my finger, I'll fix the split to your eye, fill you in on what's happened."

"My eye??" John pushed his fingers to his temple and it came away wet.

"I believe Jim *king hit you." Sherlock said, and paused to look passively at Moriarty who shrugged in an exaggerated manner.

John found the boats first aid kit. He had Sherlock sit in the co-captains chair while he parked himself against the console. With his doctors care he lifted Sherlocks finger and turned the hand, gently, to assess the damage. It looked bad. Bruised and cut, still slightly dented. He frowned. Sherlock loved that frown. Meant he was doctoring and so therefore happily in control.

Sherlock began to tell John everything that had happened. 

John listened as he realised that all he could really do was splint Sherlocks injury and wrap it secure. He used the finger on the other side of the injured finger as a splint as it was the index finger that had been damaged. The gauze and tape held it tight and Sherlock nodded his thanks.

He had come to the end of their adventures by the time they swapped places. Sherlock gently swabbed Johns cut and placed three butterfly bandages on it. He then softly kissed Johns forehead to the renewed fake vomit sounds from Moriarty. 

Sherlock used his boot to shove the captains chair around so that Jim was facing the other way, then gathered John in for a deep and loving kiss that had Johns heart pounding.

They found a comfy place to sit in the bridge together, slumped against one of the walls. They could still see Moriarty from this position, but the criminal could not see them.

Jim complained for quite some time but he was stuck fast to the chair. Nobody was coming to rescue him, nobody cared, nobody was left alive to pay to care. Soon the bad boy of crime was slumping in what appeared to be sleep.

For the next few hours the detective and his blogger held each other, John resting back against Sherlocks chest, tucked safely under his chin. 

Sherlocks lips were in Johns hair more often than not, and Johns hand was warm on Sherlocks leg. They murmured to each other, shared a kiss or nine, but mostly they sat in silence.

When Lestrade and the whole of the Local Police squad clambered on board their peace was shattered.

Questiones were asked and answered. 

Lestrades concerned face came and went. 

Moriarty in his sexy attire was cut free and whisked away. 

The bodies of the henchmen were catalogued and carted off the boat. 

The blood was noted and cleaned away. 

By the time mid morning came Lestrade, John and Sherlock were in the galley with cups of tea John had whipped up, he being the only one who knew his way around a boat.

"Hell of a few days." Greg said.

"What do you mean, it's been a lovely relaxing holiday." John said sarcastically.

"I am sure it has." Lestrade answered in the same tone. "I have an offer for you."

"No." Sherlock said.

"You haven't heard it yet."

"We would love to hear it, wouldn't we Sherlock?" John gently bumped Sherlocks shoulder. Sherlock grunted, then nodded.

"Thank you John." Lestrade smiled. "So I was thinking, rather than you going back to the castle, you might like to spend a few days on the boat. Nobody to hassle you, it's well stocked, and you hardly notice the blood stains."

John smiled. "Are you sure? That would be lovely!"

"John, a boat, really?" Sherlock huffed.

"Yes Sherlock, this boat. It is a million pound boat and it is gorrrrrrrgoeus. We could be very happy here for a few days."

"Doing what?" Sherlock demanded, quirking his eyes brow. 

John leaned in and kissed his boyfriend.

"Playing pirates...." he whispered.

# \------------------------- *king hit is now known as Cowards Punch


	35. SLAP MY BOOTY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is porn. Pirate role play porn.

SLEEPINGJOHN

CHAPTER 35: SLAP MY BOOTY

"I am sorry, but what part of "We can play Pirates" did you not understand?"

"I am not very good at role play." 

"You can act, have seen you cry on cue!"

"But to what...end?"

"Are you asking what's your motivation?"

"Yes John I am."

"Your big fat cock in my delicious throat that's what."

_______________________________________________________________________

Captain Sherlock knew something was wrong the second he entered his cabin.

It was little things. A scuffed rug, his sextant facing the wrong way, one of his lanterns was blown out. Someone had come in here. 

No, scratch that, someone was still in here.

He raked his alien-green eyes around his cabin. All was quiet. The crew were on night watch, and the English were long gone. Beaten back by "Vatican Cameos"s mighty canons. They were stocked up to the gunnels with provisions and had a healthy batch of new livestock and entertaining women on board.

So what was it...

His eyes caught the curtain of his sleeping quarters. A bed, built into the wall, closed off by a thick curtain. A thick curtain that was not sitting right....

The Captain stalked to his bed and whipped the curtain back. Cowering in the corner of his bed was a boy. He had his arms over his head protectively and he was quivering. The Captain could see he had sandy hair and strong forearms but that was all he could discern.

"Why are you here? What did you steal?" The Captain demanded. But the boy did not respond more than try to burrow further into the corner of the bed. 

"Show your face!" The Captain then roared, and dragged the boy up by his shirt.

"Please please I don't know what you are saying I don't speak Frenchie Talk!"

"English?" The Captain asked in English with a thick French accent. The boy nodded, keeping his arms up to ward off blows.

"Why are you...in my..boudoir...my bed,boy?" the Captain asked in stilted English

"I was running' from the cook Sir!"

"Why were..... you running from the cook?"

"Cos 'e were chasing' me!"

"And why was he....chasing you?"

"cos....I were runnin'?"

The Captain shoved the boy to the ground and sat down on his bed. 

"Take...my boots off."

The boy scrambled to obey, straddling the captains long leg and heaving on the boot. The captain helped by kicking the boys arse, causing him to fly off the end of The Captains leg. He rose triumphant, boot in hand.

"My other." 

The process was repeated with the other boot. 

The captain slipped out of his coat, took off his sword belt and then stood, stretching, in just his floppy white shirt and spectacular breeches. He groaned in the pleasure of cracking his spine.

The boy stared from his position on the floor.

The Captain stroked his hand down his chest and settled his half lidded eyes on the boy. He licked his lips and the boy shivered.

The boy found himself lifted to his feet by the front of his stripy shirt. He only came to the Captains chin. He stared into the magnificent eyes above him and he felt hot and uncomfortable.

"Come, warm my bed." The Captain said, and then tossed him back onto the soft mattress.

"Stop....throwing me!"

The Captain straddled the boy and slammed the curtains closed. They were in their own little world, the rest of the ship cut off. It was surprising intimate.

The towering Captain sat back on the boys thighs, looking down at him. The smouldering need in those eyes made the boy squirm.

"Your name, boy?"

"John." 

"Shon."  
"No, John."

"Oui, Shon."

John shrugged.

The Captain fell forward, pinning Johns arms to the bed above his head.

"...oh..." John whispered. Those beautiful lips just millimetres from his. He breathed in, then almost forgot to breathe out.

"You are...pretty...Shon."

"Me? You are breathtaking.."

"Oui..." The Captain said, and pressed his lips to Johns. 

Johns chest expanded as he huffed a deep breath in through his nose. He moaned and closed his eyes, those lips fitting on his like the solution to a puzzle. Held beneath the magnificent plush body of the French Captain felt like paradise to the lowly cabin boy.

The kiss was long, languid, very sexy. Then, the captain introduced his velvety tongue and John moaned again, wiggling under the strong body on top of him. 

"Mmmmm, Shon...lovely, so sweet.." the captain announced, and began to lick and bite the boys neck. John moaned again, and arched his hips, letting the captain feel exactly what those lips were doing to him. 

The Captains wonderful mouth went lower, down to his chest. He nosed aside the low cut of Johns shirt and his tongue sought and found one of his sensitive nipples.

The second the Captains tongue touched the hard bud John gasped in pleasure, once again hitching his hips into The Captains abdomen.

"Oh my Good God in Heaven..." he cursed softly, and then trembled as the captain licked at his nipple, unrelenting flat swathes of his beautiful tongue. "Oh My Good-" the rest of the swear was lost in a gasping choke when The Captain nipped at the very tip of his nipple. The fire sent shocks of intense pleasure straight to his cock.

"Shon, so pretty, so delectable, " The Captain said and then continued to praise him in French, moving those perfect lips down further.

"no no no, if you touch me with that mouth I will explode!" John warned but The Captain continued his trip south. He even let Johns wrists go to get to the very centre of the boy. Johns hands went to the Captains luscious locks to push him off but ended up pushing him further down.

He felt the buttons of his breeches popped one by one and hissed as the cool air hit his hot hard prick. And then his whole world spun. The Captain took him inside that warm wet mouth and sucked him deep.

"No no no I am too close please please stop please oh god your mouth it's...." John babbled, shoving his cock into the Captains mouth. "Please if you don't stop I am gonna...ohhhhhh.." he moaned as his orgasm claimed him. He madly bucked ropes of semen down the French Captains throat, hitching his hips and clutching at the captains wonderful thick hair. 

When he was spent he flopped boneless, eyes half closed, whispering swear words and thank you's and please go again and no don't touch me's.

The Captain chuckled, a rich full sound.

"You will now do me Oui." it was not a question.

"Oui." John attempted French and once again found himself thrown about. 

The Captain sat up against the bulkhead,a pillow behind his back, one hand behind his head. 

"Undress me Shon, my....chemisè..." he waved to his shirt.

John tucked his flaccid cock back into his breeches and straddled the Captain. He used his shaking hands to untie the strips of material holding The Captains floppy white shirt closed. The close quarters scrutiny made him nervous and excited.

"Very pretty Shon...you have deft hands."

John parted the shirt and got a good look at the upper half of the Captain. He bit his bottom lip. 

"Oh..." was all he could think to say before lust override everything and he took the Captains throat in his lips.

"Shon! Mérde!" The Captain exclaimed, and moaned under the pretty mouth of the boy. Lips set fire to his skin and he smiled. They trailed down his chest, over his nipples, down to his belly.

"Your breeches...how...?"

The Captain helped undo his French Breeches and pulled his own hard cock out.

"Christ..." The boy swore, and put his tongue on the slit. 

"Mérde!" The Captain swore again, arching himself against the bulkhead. He began to order the boy in French but John had no idea what he was saying. So he licked and sucked and bit the hard member under his plush lips. Then he finally sucked the Captain in, long and slow. He relaxed his throat and took him deeper, causing The Captain to almost weep his words, his sexy French swear words.

John pulled at the cock with strong suction until The Captain was insensible with lust.

Seconds later a warm salty spill of seed threw itself down Johns throat, accompanied by the frenzied keening of the Captain and a hard tug on Johns hair. John smiled and swallowed, licking up all the spare semen on The Captains cock. 

Once again the Captain drew him up by the shirt, and kissed his dirty mouth with a deep filthy kiss and sighed in happiness.

________________________________________________________________________

"You will be the death of me John"

"Not before you kill me....Captain..."

#


	36. FREUD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tell me about your mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set up for angst...

SLEEPINGJOHN

CHAPTER 35: FREUD 

By dusk that night Sherlock and John had showered, changed into all white clothes with little anchors embroidered on the collars, which was all the clean clothes they could find, eaten a pleasant meal and were relaxing on the stern deck with white wine, also the only alcohol they could find.

Sherlock had a pillow behind his back and his legs stretched out on the white vinyl seat, John between them.

John was once again using Sherlock as a pillow. He happily sipped his posh wine and watched the sun descend.

"So nice here." John sighed.

"Do ye think wee Nessie will pop up tae say hello?" Sherlock rumbled his fake burr into Johns hair. John shivered. 

"Mmmmm...maybe...."

"we could ride him like a surrrrrrf boarrrrrrdddd..."

"I would rather ride you."

"Prrrrrromise?"

"Oh, aye."

They kissed for a while, a nice languid wet kiss, lots of sucking yummy wine of tongues, and licking delicious wine off lips.

"Doctor Watson." Sherlock said, once the wine was drunk and the kisses stopped.

"Mmm...?"

"Tell me about your mother."

"....what...?"

"What do you remember about her."

"Nothing Sherlock, I remember nothing about my mother." John said, voice dead.

"Nothing at all?" Sherlock asked, knowing that wasn't true.

"Why do you want to know? Why now Sherlock? Our day has been so nice...eventually. The dead bodies and the police and the posing pouch were awful but the....sex, the role playing...so nice." John lifted himself off Sherlock, sat on he bench and cradled his head in his hands.

"Something Fury said to me has me intrigued." Sherlock said. "He said your mother was weak."

"Sherlock not now!" John snapped.

"But to go through all she did she must have had some strengths." Sherlock went on. John grabbed his wine glass, stood, and threw it out into the Loch.

"SHUT UP!" John yelled, balling his fists. "Sherlock I ask for so little, I am begging you, right now, please, just..." he paused, and his voice went very quiet. "Just don't."

Sherlock nodded solemnly.

"Do you ever feel like everything is....turning to dust? Blowing away? John asked him.

Sherlock was silent, sensing the question was rhetorical. 

"I can tell you how I think Flirt was created."

Sherlock rented his fingers under his chin.

'Got him, distracted him' John thought, and sat down. Sherlock slid his legs up and crossed them, giving John room.

"The bar fight. When my Alters came back." John said. "I ended up on the floor afterwards. I had no idea what had happened. And Greg..."

Sherlock nodded. 

"Greg was kind to me. He lifted me up, you know? Off that filthy floor. Then...he held me. Just for a minute. And it was so unexpected and nice, and I missed that...closeness." John sighed. "I had very little as a child, and no affection in any of the girls I had as Three Continents Watson. I am stunted when it comes to physical closeness."

"I beg to differ."

"It does not come naturally to me. I studied books. Books, Sherlock. Put your arm here, kiss them there..." John shook his head. 

"Why does that distress you? I learned much from Playboy Forum." 

John snickered a quick laugh. "You did not."

"I can assure I did. Once I surmised most of the letters were false I filtered what was useful, deleted the rest, and had a fairly satisfactory sex life from early teen hood."

"Sherlock...you being who you are and how you are...does not really help me with this particular hang up."

"I function." Sherlock said, and John had to agree. "Greg kissed you?"

"He did. Well, he kissed Flirt. I recall his lips....and after that I was home in bed."

"The night I met SleepingJohn." Sherlock nodded.

"Yes. I didn't know he was on duty. As a child I had lots of periods where I blacked out but I assumed it was from lack of food or the beatings."

"John-" Sherlock choked out. It was hard to think properly when the man he loved talked with casual ease of the horrors he survived.

"Sherlock....I have been wondering...if there were more Alters, when I was young. I used to think Robin was my invisible friend. But...I remember others, shadows, shades." John shook himself.

"It's possible John but, much like the ones you recall now who went dormant, maybe they served their purpose and are no longer here."

"where did they go Sherlock?" John whispered

"Maybe they evolved into the ones you have now."

"Food for thought." John paused, eyes drifting over the Loch.

"John, you trust me." Sherlock announced.

"Of course I do. With my life."

"Nothing you can tell me will ever dismiss the love and respect I have for you and all you have been through." He leaned forward over his own legs to touch Johns cheek with the back of his strapped hand.

"...oh...." John said. "Okay...then..." he shifted. 

"Let me tell you about my mother."

#


	37. DEER HUNTER

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock miscalculates again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angsty

SLEEPINGJOHN

CHAPTER 37: DEER HUNTER

The night had grown colder so Sherlock brought out a duvet to throw over them both. They both wanted to stay outside with the Loch in their sight.

Sherlock pulled John in close and John settled into the crook of the detectives shoulder.

"If it is too hard, stay there. You do not have to look at me. But I am here John." Sherlock said quietly, and kissed the top of Johns head. 

John breathed in deeply.

"I mostly remember my mother asleep in bed, or 'retired' as my dad would say. Or zoned out on the sofa. I don't remember her talking to us much. She must have. She must have spoken to us, but I don't remember books being read, or discussions around the kitchen table, or helpful hints..."

"Da told us to always be quiet in the house because Ma was sleeping, or resting, or retired. He was out all day working construction or at the pub. We were basically raised by Harry. She was five years older and we boys thought she hung the moon and the stars. How hard it must have been for her..."

"Did your Da hurt her?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes, a few times, but I think he knew without her, he would not have Jack and I to play with. We would have been dead."

Sherlock rumbled but said nothing.

"Now I know Ma was zonked on pills. Probably Valium. Something really addictive, because who would want to face the realities of her life? The I thought she was just really Ill."

"After Jack went to military school..." John paused. "After he disappeared, Ma went into a hospital for a while. Harry and I clung to each other. But Da still....hurt me. I remember my stomach was always in knots. It was worse when he was drunk. He broke my arm once just flinging me down the stairs..."

Sherlocks breath hitched but he remained silent.

"Ma never lifted a hand to stop him. He very rarely did anything to me in front of her, but she would have to have known, despite the pills. For whatever reason, fear, weakness, pattern, she just never stood up for me, and Robin, when he was alive."

"One time Da lost it in the kitchen. Ma was making tea. She burned herself, and Da told her she was a stupid slut and she could burn in hell for all he cared. I told him he was not to damn our mother to hell...."

"He threw the teapot at my head. It missed but I did get some splashes on me. I didn't feel it after that because he smashed his huge fist into mouth. Broke teeth and pulverised my lips. I went down and he kicked me in the stomach, and then my arms as I curled up to protect myself. He told me I was a maggot, a dirt eating maggot, and I was going to be damned to hell with my cunt of a mother." 

"I was crying and begging him to stop. He finally did. I was bleeding. I was hurt badly. I was sobbing. Then my mother retrieved the teapot...she said she would make another pot and for nobody to worry it would not take long."

Sherlock shifted only slightly. John didn't notice.

"I joined the military as soon as I could. Cadets, when I was 15. Fudged my age, and stayed on Campus with some other boys. Military family boys who always knew they were going to fight for the country when they grew up. I liked it there...I was really good at taking orders."

"It was great to get away. Fantastic. I grew to know how to relate to people on a more or less normal level. Yeah, sometimes my Da would come to see me...drunk...needing money or just to smash his fist into me...but those visits came less and less over a year."

"Then Harry called me. She said Ma was dead in her bed and I should come home. I caught a bus...."

"She had overdosed, left a note. She said she was 'no damn good and this world was better without her'...."

"I don't know what happened Sherlock, I cannot recall, but the next thing I remember I had my Da's rabbit shooting rifle in my hands and I was...HUNTING my Da...I was tracking him through the forest out back of my place at The Fens, those trees near The Tor. And...he knew it. I remember his voice, asking me to stop, that he...he forgave me for killing my mother...that it was okay, we would work through this, only just not to kill him."

"When I finally caught up to that son of a bitch he was kneeling. He was done in. I had chased him for a long time. I remember putting the rifle to his face...."

John was shaking by now.

"Sherlock, my Da's body was found in the room with Ma. They said he was so distraught over his wife's death he shot himself. Harry told me a different story, that Ma had shot him, then killed herself. But Sherlock I know...I am certain...I was the one who pulled the trigger. I hunted him like an animal and I shot that fucker dead in cold blood."

"John, stop..." Sherlocks voice was wrecked. He was crying and shaking, holding onto John with trembling hands. "Stop, for the love of God....stop...."

John stopped. Silent. 

"You asked Sherlock. What did you think I was going to tell you? That she baked cookies and made sure our shoes were shined?"

John fought the blanket and stood up. He whirled to face Sherlock who couldn't look at John in case his heart burst.

"I had a fucked up childhood Sherlock, and I am damaged because of it." John said. "God, how can you even stand to touch me if you cannot even look at me!"

John stormed off inside the boat, slamming the glass decider door behind him so hard it rattled.

"John.." Sherlock said wetly but he was crying way to hard to give chase. "John....shit..." Sobs shook him right to his heart.

"Stupid stupid stupid..."

#


	38. MAGGOT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John deals with his pain and Sherlock gets another eye opening moment.

SLEEPINGJOHN

CHAPTER 38: MAGGOT 

The pain was incredible. 

White hot and real and taking up most of his brain. The other part was blissful. Excited. Knowing he did the right thing, the proper thing. Replaced his dirty pain with good clean pure pain. 

He opened his fist and bit back a scream. The blood was dripping now, almost pouring. The blade stuck in his skin for a minute, until he turned his wrist and it fell to the floor with a wet tink.

His whole body was shaking with pain now. He was drooling and babbling with it, incoherent but for the bright spots of pain on his hand, and on his thigh. 

Lovely pain.

"Fuck!" 

"No no no...leave it..." He weakly batted at the hands but his head fell backwards as he was rolled over. He just could not hold it up. His vision was blurry. It felt good. 

Hurt!

"Fuck, what did you do?"

"Mmmmm, shhhh, s'nice.."

"John you fucking idiot!"

A towel was pressed into his thigh. 

"No no, the blood needs to.." he forgot. His eyes closed. Something hit his face. His eyes flew open.

"Stay with me you bastard!"

"Leave me to finish-"

"John, no...no!"

He moved his eyes and they settled on Sherlocks pale and frightened face. What the hell was up with him? 

"One more cut, I need to finish..."

The pressure on his thigh began to feel good. He lifted his hand to check the state of the blood there, only to find a small towel there, and Sherlocks fingers clasped to it. 

"You bloody stupid...infuriating..." Sherlock was telling him, through tear stained lips.  
"John, what were you thinking?"

"Clean...."

"What?"

"Wanted to feel clean."

"John.." The heartbreaking way his name was said gave him pause. "John, if I lost you..."

"Not going..." John said. 

"God John, I am so sorry."

John closed his eyes, smiling. 

"Deserve this...."

And he blissed out, eyelids fluttering closed.

#

He awoke to find himself in bed, all warm and snuggled. He smiled, and groaned in pleasure. He felt wonderful.

"John." Sherlock said right near him. John turned his face and saw Sherlock laying next to him, head propped on his hand.

"Hey." He smiled.

"How do you feel."

"Wooonderful." John moaned. "What did you do to me?" 

"John, what do you remember?"

"Kissing you. Always." John said, and stretched. Then he hissed. His thigh stung. "ow...what..?"

"We argued." Sherlock said. "Do you not remember? It was you, not an Alter, that argued with me. About your mother."

"Why is my hand bandaged?" John was staring at his hand which Sherlock had doctored as best he could.

"You hurt yourself."

"What on?"

"Deliberately."

John turned horrified eyes to Sherlock.

"I.Did.What...?" 

"You took a blade from the bathroom here on the boat, carved a word into your thigh and then slit your hand open."

John shuddered, and closed his eyes, clenching his jaw.

"oh no..."

"Unless there is an Alter that cuts, it was you, John, who did it to yourself."

"It was me." John said. "I have done it before. Both my ankles, shoulder. It is not a death wish, it is a ritual. Usually I cut myself in three places...you said hand and thigh...you just have interrupted me..."

"I am so sorry, I should not have pushed you."

"You couldn't LOOK at me Sherlock!"

"I was ashamed at myself, and hurting for you..I don't know what to do with that sort of....emotion John. Christ, I have never loved anyone so much. It kills me to know how much you suffered and I could do nothing to help you. Everything you went through..John, you never EVER deserved it."

"What.....?" 

"It was not your fault."

"Uh...Sherlock...it was...it was all my fault."

Lights came on behind Sherlocks eyes. This whole time, John had carried this guilt with him. It was illogical, he was just a small boy, helpless against his Da's onslaughts, but...he must have thought he was a bad boy, a useless human, that he had deserved everything he got. 

"Oh John...no..." he whispered, and hugged John to him gently, kissing his hair. "No no, nothing you did caused this, nothing. It was your Da, not you. Your stupid prick of a Da!"

"Sherlock...it hurts, it all hurts so much." John whispered.

"And I am so sorry John." Sherlock said. 

"How can you even love me?"

"John, you are the light in the room." Sherlock laughed. "People respond to you. You are strong and brave, funny, unhesitant, irresistible, hot, sexy, you make my eyes cloud and my pants hot. I have never met anyone who understands me more, or who will put up with how I am as a person. John...you are truly the most amazing person I have ever met, and I have met James fucking Bond."

"Wait...he's Real?"

"Pretend I said nothing..."

"Mycroft.." John nodded, and Sherlock joined in.

"I need a shower, and to check my injuries." John tried to sit up.

"John, not yet. Please." Sherlock put his hand on Johns chest.

"Sherlock...what...what aren't you telling me...?"

"John..."

"Oh God..."

He pushed the duvet off and lifted his leg. He tore the gauze off his thigh and read the word he had carved there.

"MAGGOT"

And he burst into tears.

#


	39. THE COMPLEX PUZZLE THAT IS JOHN WATSON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just exactly who is Maggot?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter.
> 
> There will be an epilogue if any loose ends need to be tied. 
> 
> But don't panic!!
> 
> These Alters need another novel so I am plotting out another one and adding to this 'verse.

SLEEPINGJOHN

CHAPTER 39: THE COMPLEX PUZZLE THAT IS JOHN WATSON

At some stage deep in the night Sherlock felt lips kissing his neck. He moaned and tipped his head back so those lips could get better access. It felt wonderful, best dream...

Then he came to full consciousness. Johns lips..no wait, it was...

"Which one are you?" Sherlock whispered. The lips kept sucking at his neck, teasing him, and he shivered in joy. "Please...who are you?"

"Hush." The Alter said, leaving no clue to Sherlocks sleep and lust addled brain. The Alter slipped aside the collar of the blue silk pyjama top Sherlock wore to bed and trailed his hot mouth along the skin he exposed. Sherlock moaned appreciatively, finding the fact he didn't know who was molesting him quite thrilling.

Fingers worked on undoing his top, kissing and licking their way down his chest, across to his nipples, and down his abdomen. The kisses were giving nothing away. All he knew was it was not John, UnderJohn, or naturally, Robin. 

"Hamish...?" Sherlock asked. There was a hum against his flesh that neither confirmed nor denied. If it wasn't John, Hamish was Sherlocks next choice. Remembering that fuck by the fire got Sherlocks brain flaring. He wiggled a bit as the last button was undone and kisses were laid a the waistband of his pyjama bottoms.

"Wait...no...John...he's upset, he's...oh!" Sherlock protested as he became more awake.

A hot mouth breathed onto the head of his cock, making him quite forget his name or where he lived, and certainly his train of thought.

Reacting by instinct, Sherlock flicked on the bedside lamp and gazed down at the Alter between his legs.

The Alter raised his head, staring at Sherlock. Then he smiled coyly and winked.

"Flirt!"

"Hello sugar donut, want me to suck your cock?"

He paused....so tempted...

"Flirt...why are you here?" Sherlock asked, swallowing. Flirts beautiful lips were oh so near his cock...he would just have to flip the jammies down and reach out and flick his...

"I needed some loving." Flirt said. And gazed down at Sherlocks silk covered cock.

"oh..." there was something wrong about that..."Oh..no, John should not feel bad, I love him, I need him, Flirt, it's okay..."

"Silly Sherlock, it's me that needs a good hard fuck."

"Flirt, you only come out when John needs rough uncomplicated sex. I won't do that. Not tonight."

"Sherrrrrrlock, I neeeeed you..." Flirt whined, and put his mouth on the hard silk.

"...ngh..." Sherlock attempted to stop Flirts mouth but it was soooo gooood....

"Flirt...no, Johns injured..."

"Pft, hand, I can use my mouth..."

"I know, but his leg..."

Flirt looked up.

"Leg?"

"He carved 'Maggot' in his thigh."

Flirts eyes went wide. He scrambled, took down the matching pyjama bottoms he had just been mouthing on Sherlock, and stared at his leg.

"Maggot." He smiled. "What fun! Did that make John feel better?"

"What...the hell...?"

"Maggot...it's what we Alters call The Terror, The Knot-Tyer, TheAbuser." Flirt looked up.

"Flirt, what-"

"Da. It's what we called Da."

"Wait, The Alters called Da Maggot? But that's what he called John..."

"Once he did. In the kitchen. When we learned Ma could not help us. We decided HE was the Maggot, not us."

"So Maggot in his thigh is not a defamation of his character but a reminder that his Da was disgusting, and it was not Johns fault. It was all Da..."

"Yes, did he like it?"

"He still blames himself Flirt..but I have an idea. Would you tell him? Would all The Alters tell John?"

"How?"

"The phone I have has video. Please, would they tell him? Tell him it was Da and not him that was the problem?"

"Of course...could I suck your cock first?"

"No, Flirt....no...I...no." Sherlock denied reluctantly.

#

In the morning Sherlock sat John down at the galley table, the phone in front of him and said:

"Some friends have a message for you..." 

John pressed the triangle that indicated play...  
________________________________________________________________________

~Flirts face,begging~

F- Just a quick hard fuck-oh, is this on? Hi John! It's Flirt!!!

~Flirts fingers waved~

S- Are you flirting with yourself?

F- Maybe ~pouts~ John, I want to tell you something reeeeeel important...~sings~put your sweet lips a little closer to the phoooooone...~stops singing~. John, Maggot was Da. Not you. We were reminding you he was the dirty fucker who did all those things to you. Nothing you did made him, he just chose to be a big ugly fucker!

~flicker~ ~SleepingJohn, rocking~ 

SJ- He was The Maggot, preyed on your flesh with his dirty fingers and filthy brain...

~rocking~

SJ- He says he will tell you too...

~flicker~

~Hamishs face~ 

H- The Maggot made us into what we are John but we are not weak. Together, we are stronger than just one man. I did not want the carving to happen but you were hysterical. I am sorry we hurt you but you understand now. It was him. Not you. He is the Maggot.

~Flicker~

~Robin giggles~

R- Hey Will Scarlett! Guess what...you are not the Maggot! Ya big idiot!

S- Be nice!

R- But he is being an idiot!

S- Maybe, but he is your brother. Show him some respect.

~eye roll~

R- You are not the Maggot you good looking manly bloke...better?

S- Much.

~Flicker~

~Fury's face appears~

F- You KNOW he was the bastard who shattered us you fuck, he rend us and twist us and ate our flesh. HE was the maggot, not you. And John...I was the one who pulled the fucking trigger on that snivelling worm. That's when I was made not Afghanistan...

The phone went dark.

"Delete it!" John cried, backing away, face terrified. "Delete it delete it delete it!!!"

"John, what's the matter?" Sherlock asked, jumping up too.

John picked up the phone, ran outside and threw it in the Loch. Sherlock came up behind his friend as he covered his face with his hands.

"What is it John, was it wrong...?"

"No, Sherlock...it's just....Fury confessed to killing Da..."

"Yes?"

"If anyone saw that I would be in prison. Fury has my face."

Sherlock gathered John into his arms, and he came willingly.

"I love you John. And you are one lucky man."

"Because you love me...?"

"Yes, and because you have five extra men who have your back. Not broken John Watson, just a very complex puzzle."

"It was Da, not me. All Da's problems..."

"You had nothing to do with the creature he became John, I am only sorry he was ever anywhere near you."

"Sherlock.."

"Yes?

"Let's go home, solve some crimes. This whole holiday has been work work work..."

"Deal, John Watson. We should go back. Someone keeps threatening to burn the Yard down you know..."

John giggled, then reached up to kiss Sherlock. Sherlock returned the kiss. 

They were still kissing when the sun came up.

#


	40. EPILOGUE

SLEEPINGJOHN

CHAPTER 40: EPILOGUE

He ran and kept on running. 

To stop was to die.

His heart was beating so fast and his chest was on fire, his ribs exhausted.

His legs could hardly lift him over obstacles, his knees were screaming in pain.

To stop running was to die.

His brain was soggy but he was terrified.

He had never been so terrified in his entire life.

To stop running was to die.

He stopped running.

Fell to his knees gasping, roaring for air. 

Turned his face up.

Raised his arms.

Rasped out his voice, begging, pleading....

And as he looked into the face of his son he thought:

"I see the chickens have come home to the roost"

All was pain and then.....

Nothing.

THE  
N  
D


End file.
